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I AM BY FAR THE SICKEST MAN ABOARD THIS SHIP " — Page Q 



OUT O' LUCK 

BILTMORE OSWALD VERY 
MUCH AT SEA 



BY 

J. THORNE SMITH, Jr., C.B.M. 

U. S. N. R. F. 

Author of "Biltmore Oswald^* 

WITH 31 ILLUSTRATIONS IN BLACK-AND-WHITE 

BY 

RICHARD DORGAN 

{"Dick Dorgan") . 
V. S. N. R. P. 




NEW YORK 
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Cic 



M 






\^^ 



Copyright, IQIQ, By 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 



All Rights Reserved 



Reprinted from 

The Broadside 

A Journal For 

The Naval Reserve Force 



\ 

UN 201^19 
©CU515936 " 



To 
ELIZA 

THE LADY WHO SAW 
ME THROUGH 



iS 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

I am by far the sickest man aboard this ship" Frontispiece 



TAcnro 

FACE 



" 'Well, thank God, it ain't a submarine provoker' ' . 2 

"* Who dropped that hammock?'" 5 

" Tony dangled a piece of fat before our stricken eyes ^* 6 
" 'You must let him kiss you, Tim, it's the custom' " . 14 
"We were accompanied to the ship amid flags and an 

admiring populace" ^7 

"I sprang aside just in time to avoid an unpleasant 

contact" ^° 

" 'What are you doing here?' " 21 

"The poor misguided Italian fell amid a volley of im- 

precations ^-^ 

" *What do you know about me? What do you know 

about my morals?' " 20 

"*The "Exec" said that you were a "wicked old 

man" and for me to keep away from you' " . 29 
" *You nearly spoiled my grasshopper' " . . . .36 
" 'What's so blooming wonderful about this,' says I, 

edging behind an open work chair" . . . . 39 

" 'See that window over there?' " 4^ 

"It seems that Mr. Fogerty's sweetie has given him 

the go by" 5^ 

"The beautiful woman I hope to make my jailer" . 58 
"My eye, what a walk! She did everything but loop- 

the-loop" <5i 

" 'You must break it to her gently,' she murmured, 

kissing my neck" ^° 



V 



VI LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



FACING 
PAGE 



* 'Aren't there any beds save mine between here and 

the South?'" 71 

*I realized that my position was not an enviable one'* 78 

* 'Certainly,' I replied, 'certainly, little bell boy, and 

perhaps you might like the funny trousers also?' " 81 

Bell boy, you're not saying it right' " .... 90 
'Mr. Fogerty is a papa. He has seven babies, all 
dogs" 93 

* 'Maiden, I have here with me a homeless cat' " . 100 

'The left shoulder of the young lady gave a slight, but 
ever so eloquent hitch" 103 

' 'Say, don't you think that my horse looks sick?' " 106 

' 'Let's swap horses,' I cried, as I passed her com- 
paratively mild-mannered mount" .... 109 

'Sailors have an unpleasant habit of glaring" . .112 

'At first I thought that he was getting into communi- 
cation with my great grandfather" . . . .115 

' 'Good-bye, Fogerty,' says I, 'be good to your fam- 
ilies' " 116 

'Now I must hasten to sow some jazz-weeds" . . ii'9 



OUT O' LUCK 

Biltmore Oswald Very Much at Sea 

Sept. 7th. — My first impression of the ship was not a 
reassuring one. As I regarded the tall, slim masts, with 
a lookout or crow's-nest forward that somehow reminded me 
of an eggcup, a nervous sensation made itself manifest and 
enlarged in the pit of my stomach. The very idea of there 
existing a bare possibility of my being forced to ascend one 
of those masts in a pitching sea and ensconce myself in the 
crow's-nest made the bitter, sweat-washed memory of the 
coal pile back at camp seem sweet. As I stood gazing at 
the vessel that was destined to bear me out upon the turbu- 
lent seas of the high adventure, I considered how unlike the 
sensations of the heroes of all the sea novels I had ever read 
were mine. The scent of tar, which is guaranteed in all 
the best sellers to send a thrill through the stalwart young 
adventurer, served only to cast a gloomy and nauseating 
foreboding of future complications over my rather meager 
frame. The bustle and hurry on the dock, so dear to the 
valiant hearts of the youthful mariners, confused my addled 
brain to a point bordering closely on idiocy. The ^ip 
seemed to be altogether too large. There would be many 
decks to holystone — too many, I decided. Furthermore, 
there would be much bright work to brighten. I pictured 
long days of ceaseless toil and nights of extreme danger 
during which the ship would play leap-frog with a series 
of submarines stretching away into the mist. 

"Well, thank God, it ain't a Submarine Provoker at any 
rate," said Tim in a relieved voice. 

"Too big," breathed Tony, "thata ship he much too big. 
Whata you think, Bilta?" 

I 



2 OUT O' LUCK 

**Well, it could be smaller," said I, "but she looks safe." 

"Wonder when they issue the life preservers," said the 
Spider in a dispirited voice. "I'd sort of like to put mine 
on before we went aboard." 

A member of the guns' crew, one of the hardest looking 
white men I have ever seen, unfortunately overheard this 
last remark, and almost barked. I thought for a moment 
that he was going to bite the Spider, but he seemed to think 
better of it. 

"You fellers ain't agoin' ter git no life preservers," said 
he, regarding our unheroic group through eyes that had 
recently looked on something other than water. "We 
drown such guys as you for the good of the service." 

"How's your head, buddy?" says I all of a sudden, 
prompted by some mad impulse. He looked at me with 
extreme earnestness for a moment before he spoke, and when 
he did speak all he said was, "I'm going to remember you ;" 
but that was quite enough for me. My first enemy 1 Tim 
threw a protecting arm around my shoulder and at the same 
time faced my avowed foe. 

"Don't worry about that guy," says Tim, "if he's got 
anything to do with the guns I'm glad that I took out in- 
surance." 

"Oh, is that so?" says the sailor snappily. 

"What a hot answer!" jeered the Spider. "He's got a 
good line of stuff, that guy." 

"You think so, do you?" says the other, moving closer 
to us. 

I expected the worst. He would at least break one of 
my arms. I wondered if sailors rated a wound mark for 
getting injured under such circumstances, but at that mo- 
ment a diversion occurred in the form of a weather-beaten 
Chief. 

"Grab your gear and get aboard, lads," he said in a 
hearty voice. "Step lively now. Up with them outfits." 

Accordingly we shouldered our bags and hammocks and 
started for the ship. It was a great moment. At last we 




" *WELL, THANK GOD, IT AIN't A SUBMARINE PROVOKER* " — Page I 




'who dropped that hammock?' '* — Page 6 



OUT O' LUCK 5 

were going to be sailors, but for the life of me I couldn't 
figure out on which side of the ship we were entering. 
The excitement had caused me to forget all the knowledge 
I had so laboriously gained at camp. 

And then a terrible thing occurred. I can scarcely bring 
myself to write these lines. But I must be truthful, or 
else the record of my life in the Navy would be of little 
value. Anyway, no one is going to see these pages, so pos- 
sibly it doesn't matter. How can I describe the horrible 
incident. It wasn't my fault, I swear it. The blame lies 
with the guy that belonged to the guns' crew. He "remem- 
bered" me with a vengeance. He said he would, and he was 
as good as his word. It came to pass this way or after 
this manner, for it all happened so suddenly that I have only 
a confused impression of the details. As usual I was among 
the stragglers, and finding it very difficult going. The 
plank was steep and my outfit extremely heavy. There 
were a few men behind me, and at my side I saw to my 
horror the guns' crew guy. He was observing my efforts 
with a malevolent grin. And then it happened — this fear- 
ful thing. I had just reached the steepest pitch of the gang- 
plank and was about to step aboard, when suddenly I felt 
myself pushed violently backward. Something became en- 
tangled in my legs, and I completely lost my balance. As 
my hammock and bag flew from my grasp I uttered a low, 
despairing cry and tumbled over backwards. Down the 
gang-plank I rolled with incredible speed, gathering momen- 
tum at every foot. Vague thoughts flashed across my mind 
in the course of my frantic evolutions. *'Where is the 
bottom?" I wondered. "If Polly could only see me now," 
came into my mind, and through it all I was fervently 
cursing my enemy. He had pushed me. I knew it. Fur- 
thermore, to make my ruin complete, he had tripped me. 
This I also knew. My flight was becoming more rapid 
every moment. I seemed to be hurtling through intermin- 
able leagues of space. Vaguely I remember encountering 
several pairs of legs on the way. The legs instantly disap- 



6 OUT O' LUCK 

peared and violent swearing broke out in my wake. Sud- 
denly I brought up against something other than sailor legs. 
These legs seemed to be invested with all the slim, blue 
dignity of an officer. They, too, disappeared, and a body 
fell heavily upon me. My flight was over. I was lying 
on the dock at the foot of the gang-plank. Dreamily I 
opened my eyes and stared into those of an incensed junior 
lieutenant. He was lying hardly five Inches from me. 
Gravity is no respecter of gold braid. 

"A thousand damns!" screamed the infuriated officer, try- 
ing to rise. He was unable to, owing to the fact that I was 
on one of his legs. 

"A thousand pardons," I moaned as he unceremoniously 
rolled me over. 

At that moment I felt a heavy hand on my collar and I 
was violently placed on my feet. The Chief was glaring 
into my face. A low cheer arose from those on the ship. 

"You simple-faced lubber," grated the Chief, "you almost 
ruined our lieutenant." 

"I have apologized to him," I replied, "but he wouldn't 
accept it." 

"Out of my sight!" roared the officer. 

I hastily looked for my bag and hammock, feeling a strong 
desire to withdraw not only from his sight but from the 
eyes of the world. The bag and hammock were nowhere 
to be seen. They had vanished In thin air. Several men 
were pointing to the water between the ship and the dock 
from which arose the most astounding volume of oaths I 
have ever heard. Peering over the dock I beheld my bag 
and hammock floating around in the water. A sailor was 
also floundering around in the oily substance, and there were 
several overturned buckets of paint on a nearby scow. 

"Who dropped that hammock?" yelled the man in the 
water. "Just tell me who done it and I'll cut his heart 



out." 



I moved quickly back from the edge of the pier. 
"We'll show him to you later on!" yelled several voices 




TONY DANGLED A PIECE OF FAT BEFORE OUR STRICKEN EYES" — Page Q 



OUT O' LUCK 9 

from the ship as I stood by helplessly and watched my bag 
and hammock, together with the enraged ship's painter, 
fished from the water. 

''Get aboard," said the Chief, and I marched up the 
gang-plank with thousands of eyes upon me. My outfit 
was presented to me with elaborate courtesy, the whole 
ship's crew taking part in the ceremony. It was twice as 
heavy as before, and Tim had to help me carry it. As I 
turned away the Chief stopped me. 

"The mere fact that you are aboard this ship," he said 
in a loud voice so that all might hear, "is sufficient reason 
to give comfort to the enemy, and for that reason alone you 
deserve to be shot. Get below!" I got. Thus have I 
once more sprung into fame. Everyone on the ship knows 
me. I have been overwhelmed with jests and questions. 
The ship's painter is still looking for me. My outfit is in 
terrible shape. I hope a submarine gets me soon. Life 
is a great deal too much. 

Sept. 9th. — The Spider was the first to go. Merely 
looking at him made me feel nervous. His face was slowly 
taking on a soft, greenish tint, but he said nothing. How 
long could he last I wondered. Finally I could restrain 
myself no longer. 

"You're getting sick, Spider, aren't you?" I asked him. 

"Getting!" gasped the Spider as he rose unsteadily to his 
feet. "I've already got," and he dashed away, but I was 
close on his heels. Tim brought up the rear. Tony seems 
not to mind it. I can't write any more. I wish the ship's 
painter would find me and put me out of my misery. 

Sept. loth. — Impossible to write. Unable to cat, unable 
to sleep. Great suffering and endless toil. How much 
longer will it last. Tony dangled a piece of fat before our 
stricken eyes this morning and we all three rose as one and 
went elsewhere. Many others are sick, but I am by far the 
sickest man not only aboard this ship, but aboard any ship 
afloat. I must go. 



lo OUT O* LUCK 

Sept. 12th. — ^The worst is over, but misfortune still hangs 
like a black pall over my head. 

"Get up in the chains," said the Quartermaster to me 
last night, "I got to try some of you guys out to see how 
you cast the lead." 

Grabbing my Blue Jacket's Manual I made my way 
limply forward. Here I placed myself in the so-called 
chains and carefully untied the lead from the rail. 

"Heave!" cried the Quartermaster from the darkness be- 
hind me. I hove. 

"Catch it!" he shouted, and I caught the line. 

"Where is it at?" he demanded. 

"Wait a minute," says I. 

"What for?" says he. 

"I'm looking for the place." 

"What place ?" he asks. 

"Where it tells about the lead," I replied. By the dim 
light I could hardly make out what the book said. 

"By the marks and deeps 3%," I cried, taking a chance. 

"What!" came a surprised voice from the darkness, "By 
the what?" 

"Oh, well," says I, "I'll try again." 

"You'd better," growls the Quartermaster. 

This time I gave the lead a mighty heave and felt the 
line flying through my hand. 

"Stop her!" cried the Quartermaster, but it was too late. 
I had lost control of the line and the last foot of it slipped 
through my grasp. 

"What she read ?" demanded the Quartermaster. 

Silence from the chains. I was afraid to answer. Crouch- 
ing there in the darkness I stared ahead at the broad, dim 
ocean, and contemplated my fate. I had lost the lead. How 
could I tell him ? 

"Are you still there?" called the man who was destined 
to slay me as soon as he learned the horrid truth. 

I came slowly back to him. 

"Well?" says he. 



OUT O' LUCK 11 

"I lost the lead," says I. 

"Lost it," says he, "why it was secured to the rail." 

"I know," says I, "but I undid it. You see, I thought 
that was the thing to do, so I just . . ." My voice trailed 
away across the starless night. 

"Gord!" breathed the Quartermaster, "youVe gone and 
lost our lead." There was silence. The ship panted swiftly 
through the night. "Some war!" thought I miserably. 

"Come aft," says the Quartermaster in a quiet voice. It 
was altogether too quiet. When the storm broke it would 
be all the more violent for having been controlled. He took 
me up to the Master-at-Arms. 

"He lost the lead," said the Quartermaster to the Jimmy- 
legs. The bald simplicity of the statement made my crime 
appear even more appalling. 

"Lost the lead!" said the Jimmy-legs in an incredulous 
voice. "That ain't never been done before on this ship." 

"He did it," said the Quartermaster. 

"Impossible!" replied the Master-at-Arms. 

"Not for this guy," said the Quartermaster. 

"First he almost ruins our junior lieutenant, and then he 
goes and loses our lead," says the Legs, as if to himself. 
"He shouldn't be allowed at large." 

"How about the galley?" suggested the Quartermaster. 
The suggestion was accepted. All day I have been washing 
dishes at angles varying between 20° and 75°. The Jimmy- 
legs has told everyone to observe my actions closely. He 
fears, he says, for the safety of the ship. 

The ship's painter has just thrust his head through the 
door and looked at me a long time. "So that's the guy," 
he said as he withdrew. 

"Yes," replied the Master-at-Arms, "he lost the lead." 

"Gord !" said the painter. "What a sailor !" 

Sept. 14th. — ^The destroyers picked us up a while back 
and I breathed a sigh of relief. We are bound for some 
unnamed French port, at which we are to dock some time 



12 OUT O' LUCK 

soon. Tim has been going around with a French-English 
conversation book. From time to time he mutters "Je vous 
aime" and "une jolie fille." He seems to place a great deal 
of importance on these two phrases. The Spider has learned 
how to say "de vin/' which he earnestly believes flows freely 
at all French ports. Today during a few spare moments 
I came upon a magazine that would have delighted mother. 
It was filled with underwear advertisements. It seems from 
these advertisements that anyone to wear a suit of under- 
wear must either belong to a country club or own at least 
two high-powered motors. It is evidently remarkable stuff, 
for as soon as it is put on the wearer immediately begins to 
play leap-frog, golf or tennis with some other fortunate gen- 
tleman similarly clad, or else large, jolly families, all wear- 
ing these miraculous garments begin to wrestle with each 
other or to hold an impromptu track meet. From the illus- 
trations, no one but the very pick of supermen and women 
are ever sufficiently interested in underwear to the extent of 
having their photographs taken when clad in it. Now I 
guess I have worn more kinds of underwear than most peo- 
ple, and I have never felt like any of these remarkable peo- 
ple apparently feel. It would do my heart good to see for 
once an underwear advertisement showing a broken old man 
and a couple of fleshless, anti-athletic young men like my- 
self, all seemingly unhappy, clad in the vaunted product. 
Napoleon wore underwear, I am told on good but intimate 
authority, yet I feel sure he hardly looked imposing in it. 
But all this has nothing to do with dodging tinfish in mid- 
ocean. I must return to the mop. Leisure begets idle 
thoughts. 

Sept. 15th. — ^The Quartermaster in a sudden burst of 
confidence has just given me to understand that my hungry 
eyes shall soon feast on the sight of land. I almost broke 
down upon the reception of the news. 

(Later) The Quartermaster for once spoke the truth. 
We made out the blue coast of France several hours back. 



OUT O' LUCK 13 

This so delighted me that in a burst of gratitude I gave 
Tony my wrist watch. Several planes are now circling 
around us. I wonder how sick an aviator can get ? I should 
say, considerable. There is little env>' in me for that sort 
of a pastime. We are now entering some kind of a har- 
bor. It seems to speak French. There are no signs urging 
the perplexed visitor to drink this special brand of water 
and live forever. 

Sept. i6th. At an Unnamed French Port. — Owing to 
a delay in something or other we were granted a certain 
amount of liberty. I have just returned aboard. What a 
time we had! 

Tim, with his two French phrases ; Tony and the Spider, 
loudly calling for "de vin," went ashore with me. For some 
time we wandered around the streets looking at the queer 
signs. Tim became very dispirited because of the noticeable 
absence of "les jolie filles" as he called them. Presently he 
brought us up before a place that looked like a cross be- 
tween a refreshment shop and a fish market. 

"I guess this is where they dance on the tables," said Tim, 
still clinging to his dream. The guns* crew were there be- 
fore us, and had spread themselves over the place in heroic 
attitudes. They seemed to recognize me as I entered, and 
several ironical remarks were tossed my way. 

"Sure," said one of them, "that's the guy that lost the 
lead — some sailor, what?" and all of them laughed coarsely. 

Without paying any attention we sat down at a long table 
at which several Frenchmen were carrying on an animated 
conversation by hands and shoulders and eyebrows and forks 
and plates and everything, in short, that was movable. They 
were all excited and enthusiastic about the recent victories. 
Suddenly one of them, in an uncontrollable outburst of patri- 
otism, leaned across the table and kissed Tim on either 
cheek. 

"Mon frere," he exclaimed as he did so. Tim pushed 



14 OUT O' LUCK 

him back in his seat with undue violence. The Frenchman 
looked at him in surprise. 

"You must let him kiss you, Tim," I told him. "It's 
the custom." 

"Custom bosh!" said Tim in his most brutal voice, look- 
ing reproachfully at the Frenchman. 

"M'appelez-vous bosh?" cried that gentleman, his eyes 
gleaming. 

"Wee, wee," cried Tim, not knowing what the French- 
man had said. 

"Sacre nom de nom!" screamed the Frenchman, leaping 
up and overturning the table. 

"II m'appel bosh," he cried, pointing to Tim. 

"It is all a terrible mistake," I tried to shout above the up- 
roar, but my voice could not be heard. The guns* crew 
sided with the Frenchman and a frightful scene took place. 
Tables were overturned, the store seemed to settle on its 
foundation, and plates went crashing to the floor. In the 
fury of the melee I remember seeing a cup bounce ofiE Tim's 
large red head. He apparently did not notice it. Standing 
on one of the guns' crew he was waving a chair in the face 
of another. Slowly we retreated to the door. Someone had 
kicked me in the stomach. I suspected my original enemy, 
and emptied a bottle of vinegar on his head, which had 
somehow gotten tangled up with my feet. 

"Kick him," cried Tim, pointing to the head, but I 
couldn't bring myself to do it, although I felt like it. For 
no apparent reason a Frenchman was standing on a table in 
the corner singing the "Marseillaise" at the top of his voice. 
The odds were too great for us, and, realizing this, Tim 
called to us to cut and run. This we did in a whole-hearted 
manner. Down the narrow street of the little French town 
we sped with its whole populace streaming after us. 

"Tuez-les! Tuez-les!" we could hear the Frenchman 
screaming, "II m'appel bosh!" 

"You should have let him kiss you," breathed the Spider 
as we rounded a corner and broke for the open country. 










'* *YOU MUST LET HIM KISS YOU, TIM, IT's THE CUSTOM* "—Page 1 4 




"we were accompanied to the ship amid flags and an admiring 

POPULACE** — Page 17 



OUT O' LUCK 17 

"I ain't agoing to let no man kiss me," said Tim in a 
stubborn voice. **Jolie fille, yes, but furrin' men, no." 

"You gotta let 'em kiss you," panted Tony, "that whatta 
they do." 

"I don't got to let them kiss me," cried Tim getting ex- 
cited, "I ain't agoin' to do it." 

"You should have ought of done it," said the Spider, "and 
we wouldn't have been in this mess." 

The shouts were dying out in the distance. We were 
outstripping our pursuers, although we could still faintly 
hear the Frenchman entreating the world to "Tuez-les." 

"What's that mean?" asked Tim. 

"He's asking them to kill us," I replied, remembering my 
scanty freshman French. 

"Gord!" said Tim, "what people! He was wanting to 
kiss me ten minutes ago." 

We were by this time some distance from the town, and 
gradually cracking beneath the strain. 

"We musn't be far from the front now," said the Spider 
wearily. "Let's stop this side of the Rhine." 

So we rested by the roadside. On the way back the 
Frenchman, who had learned that Tim had not intentionally 
called him a Boche, met us in the middle of the street and 
embraced us affectionately. We were accompanied to the 
ship amid flags and an admiring populace. My stomach is 
still a little tender, however. I do wish that guns' crew 
guy would stop remembering me. 

Sept. 17th. (Under way once more.) — ^This morning 
we left this port still unnamed and cleared away for the 
American coast which I devoutly trust I shall soon see. One 
observes very little of the war in this line of work. So far 
my experiences have been purely personal. This morning 
I was cleaning brass as if the future tranquillity of my soul 
depended on the power of my elbows. So bright did I 
polish the brass that I was enabled to observe in it the re- 
flection of the ship's painter standing behind me with a 



i8 OUT O' LUCK 

large, flat stick, evidently made especially for my enjoyment, 
raised high in the air and on the point of descending with 
great force upon my unprotected person. I sprang aside 
just in time to avoid an unpleasant contact. The ship's 
painter went away like a thwarted leopard and I gave the 
brass an extra shine out of sheer gratitude. 

Sept. 25th (at sea). — "How often can a guy get sea- 
sick?" I asked the Quartermaster this morning between a 
lull in my labors. The Quartermaster spat reflectively over 
the lea side rail and gave due consideration to the question 
before committing himself. 

"Well," says he, "there's some what get seasick perpetu- 
ally and then there are those what only gets seasick inter- 
mittently or just every now and then." 

"I must belong to both classes," says I in a cheerless voice. 

"How's that?" asks the Quartermaster. 

"Well," says I, "you see, I'm always seasick, perpetually, 
as you said, but intermittently I get more seasick and on 
special occasions I can get even still more seasick." 

"What," says the Quartermaster, "you mean to say that 
you're seasick now on this glassy sea?" 

"I mean to say," says I, "that I have been seasick every 
minute since I left the station and that ten years from now 
the mere thought of what you seem fit to term a glassy sea 
will be sufficient cause for a hasty exit from any company, 
no matter how entertaining." 

"Why, this ain't no seat at all," replies the Quartermaster, 
scornfully, "just a mere easy-running ground swell." 

He gazed to windward for a moment and scanned an un- 
intelligent expanse of stupid gray sky with a discerning eye. 

"Just wait," says he, as if he were promising me a stick 
of candy, "just you wait until six bells and I'll show you 
what a real sea is." 

"Something rough, eh?" says I, as the ship pitched shiv- 
eringly down the side of a valley of dark green, concentrated 
oneryness and sent me sprawling across the deck. 






■ 
















\ 














i J 


i 








I SPRANG ASIDE JUST IN TIME TO AVOID AN UNPLEASANT CONTACT "— 

Page i8 




'what are you doing here?' ** — Page 21 



OUT O' LUCK 21 

"Yes," say^ he, "something rough, something veiy rough 
— not calm like it is now." 

*Well, I ain't agoin' to wait," says I, "I don't have to," 
and I made my way feebly aft to a place of seclusion, and 
here among other things, I prayed for peace. Then I pro- 
ceeded to hide myself behind a hammock rack and wait for 
six bells. The storm was punctual to the minute, if any- 
thing a little before hand. Storms never have good taste 
anyway, and they never leave one. Well, that ship did 
everything but gallop. It waltzed, it fox-trotted, it per- 
formed several very elaborate Oriental muscle dances and a 
couple of buck and wings. I did all of these things with it. 
The first lurch sent me spinning across the deck to the end 
of the compartment; the second one carried me back with 
a resounding bang; the third conveyed me through the door 
and among the legs of the executive officer. 

"What are you doing here?" asked the officer in an in- 
jured tone. 

"Suffering," I replied, digging my nails into the deck. 

"Don't you like it in the Navy?" he asked as I tried to 
rise. 

"No, sir," says I, "I don't like it at all in the Navy, sir," 
and then, carried away by an irresistible impulse of curiosity, 
I added, "Do you, sir?" 

The officer smiled on me with kindly eyes. "I love it, 
my boy," he said. "I enjoy it; it's my life." 

"Oh, God!" I breathed as another wave hit the ship and 
sent me sliding from the officer's sight, "those are the guys 
that have press-agented the Navy and kidded poor innocent 
people like me into believing it a romantic sport." 

"Where you going?" says Tim, as he caught me sliding 
past him. 

"Going," says I, "I'm going to vote for Mr. McAdoo 
if he ever runs for office. He builds tunnels under rivers 
and things and perhaps he might run one across the ocean." 

Later this evening the Quartermaster spoke to me apolo- 
getically. 



22 OUT O' LUCK 

"Sorry, Buddy," says he, "but I was wrong about that 
storm. Thought we were going to have one, but it must 
have got shunted off somewhere along the line." 

"What!" I screamed, "you mean to say this isn't a 
storm ?" 

"Certainly not," says he, "this isn't even a blow." 

For the first time since I joined the Navy I cried. He 
did not see me, for no tears ran down my face, but my 
soul was drenched with them. 

"Not even a blow," I repeated in a heart-broken voice 
as I staggered back to my compartment. What a war! 

Sept. 26th. — ^At four bells this afternoon the stern gun 
began barking furiously and Tony came dashing into our 
compartment, utterly demented. 

"Submarine, he come!" he shouted, throwing everything 
around in wild disorder. "Submarine, he come!" he re- 
peated, and with that he dropped an armful of whites, seized 
his guitar and rushed up on deck. Of course we all were 
close behind him, his temperamental nature having com- 
pletely upset all our instructions. 

"Submarine, he come," Tony frantically informed the 
world as he cleared the hatch. We clustered around him 
and looked eagerly seaward. 

"What the hell yer doin' here?" shouted the Quarter- 
master, spying us standing near the hatch. "Are you going 
to serenade the old man?" 

"Submarine, he " started Tony, but he never finished. 

"Submarine me eye," cried the Quartermaster, "you poor 
simple lubbers, you calf-eyed, lily-livered, clay-footed spawn 
of satan, you swabs, don't you know that this is only 
practice ?" 

"Then the submarine, he doesn't come?" asked the Spider, 
deliberately. 

"No, he doesn't," snapped the Quartermaster. 

Upon receiving this information the Spider, with the same 
disinterested ease of manner, turned and kicked Tony down 




"the poor misguided ITALIAN FELL AMID A VOLLEY OF IMPRECATIONS ** 



—Pagg 2$ 



OUT O' LUCK 25 

the hatch. The poor misguided Italian fell amid a volley 
of imprecations and jingling notes as his guitar bounced 
along the steps. 

"You were wrong, Tony," said Tim later, "it isn't *sub- 
marine, he come,' but 'submarine, she come.* All subma- 
rines are shes. As soon as you get intimate with one you're 
sunk, get me?" 

Whereupon started an argument about submarines and 
women which lasted until lights. We all agreed that both 
were equally lawless and that both had the ability to make 
the bravest man feel uncomfortable in their presence. 

Sept. 27th. — Last night I dreamed that I was just about 
to kiss Polly, when suddenly there appeared upon her upper 
lip a huge bristling, upturned mustache and I woke up with 
a shriek. 

"Damn the Kaiser!" I muttered. 

There was silence for a moment and then way down in 
the darkness at the end of the compartment I heard some- 
body say in a low voice, "Damn Ludendorf !" 

Again there was silence, and again it was broken by a 
subdued voice in another part of the darkness muttering, 
"Damn the Crown Prince." 

"Damn it all!" whispered some one, and with that the 
Master-at-arms damned us. Then there was silence, save 
for snores which in the Navy is considered the same thing. 

Sept. 28th. — Now that they've published my first diary in 
regular book form I might just as well tell of a terrible 
thing that happened. I took some of the books along with 
me on this trip and wrote fitting little sentiments in each 
one of them for my respective friends. Thinking it would 
be a sweet little attention I inscribed in the one intended 
for the Executive Officer the following words: "With the 
sincere respects of the author," and in the one intended for a 
friend of mine in camp I wrote: "To a loose-talking old 
party of unsound morals from Biltmore Oswald." I won't 



26 OUT O' LUCK 

say what I wrote in Polly's. This morning I was called 
into the Executive's stateroom. 

"Ah," thinks I to myself, as I made my way thither, **he 
probably intends to recommend me for a commission on the 
mere strength of my book." However, when I saw him 
there was something in his expression that made me instantly 
reverse my opinion. He was sitting by a'table, and on this 
table was a copy of Biltmore Oswald, and on this copy 
rested a large, tanned, seafaring hand which clutched con- 
vulsively upon my child as I entered. 

"Yes, sir," says I. 

"Your name Oswald?" says he. 

"Yes, sir," says I. 

"Did ye send me this book?" says he. 

"Yes, sir," says I for the third time. 

"Did ye write this in it?" he continues, holding up the 
book to me. 

"Yes, sir," says I, "but not for you, sir, honest to God, 
sir 

"That will do," he snapped. Then, adjusting his spec- 
tacles on his nose, he proceeded to read in a portentous voice : 
" *To a loose-talking old party of unsound morals, from 
Biltmore Oswald.' " 

He looked over his glasses at me and even he seemed to 
be awed by the horror of the situation. 

"Not for you, sir," I managed to gasp, "honest " 

"That will do," says he, and there was a pause. Finally 
I heard him speaking. 

"To begin with," says he, "you must have been feeble- 
minded to have ever written such a book, and further than 
that — ^you must have been utterly mad to have written such 
a thing about me, an officer of the United States Navy in it. 
What have you got to say for yourself?" 

"I didn't mean " I began. 

"That will do," said he in a voice that sounded as if 
he had listened to a lengthy explanation with infinite 
patience. 




llv\iiUkliilllllL 



WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ME? WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MY 
MORALS?' '* — Page 2Q 







*« *_,,^ "^„-.,-,»> 



THE EXEC SAID THAT YOU WERE A WICKED OLD MAN AND FOB. ME 
TO KEEP AWAY FROM YOU* ** — Page J I 



OUT O' LUCK 29 

I was almost frantic by this time. 

He opened the book again and I thought he was going to 
begin to read it all over in that same grim voice, but all I 
heard was such broken snatches as "loose-talking," pause, "un- 
sound morals," longer pause, and then "general court-mar- 
tial." Suddenly his face became very red and he sprang to 
his feet and shook the offending book which I heartily 
wished I had never written, under my shrinking nose. 

"What do you know about me?" he shouted. "What do 
you know about my morals?" 

"Nothing, sir," says I, "nothing " 

"You do," he shouted back to me, "you do. Has that 
lying old boatswain's mate been talking to you ? What did 
he say, eh?" 

"Nothing at all, sir," says I, "honest, sir " 

"That will do," says he, striding up and down the cabin; 
"The slandering old devil," he muttered ; "the old liar." 

At this moment the skipper entered the room and hope 
departed from my heart. 

"What's wrong?" asks the skipper of the infuriated 
officer. 

"Wrong!" says the officer, "wrong! Read this," he 
says, holding out the book in a shaking hand. "Written by 
this miserable sailor." 

The skipper read it through and handed it back. 

"I have never read in fewer words a more accurate char- 
acterization," he remarked in a calm voice. "It is nothing 
short of genius." 

"I know, sir," I broke in, not wishing to contradict the 
skipper, "it might be true, but honestly it's all a mis- 
take " 

"There's no mistake about it," continues the skipper^ as 
if he had not heard me, "it's all true, every word of it." 

"It's all that old lying Murphy's fault," said the Execu- 
tive Officer, in a complaining voice; "every ship I get on 
with him he blackens my character." 



30 OUT O' LUCK 

"He knows too much," says the Captain in an insinuating 
voice. 

"And not about me alone," replies the Exec, with equal 
insinuation. 

"Oh," says the Captain, "I dare say you fancy Murphy 
could blacken my character?" 

The Executive Officer turned away to hide an obviously 
sarcastic smile. "Oh, no," says he, "not Murphy nor any 
other man." 

"Right," says the Captain; "above reproach — open like 
a book — ^white like a lily — my character." 

"How about Yokohama?" says the Exec, sudden like. 

"That will do," says the Captain, and both of them 
seemed to remember my presence for the first time. 

"Well, young man, what have you to say?" asked the 
Captain, frowning. When I had finished telling my story 
about the books getting mixed up the Executive Officer 
still seemed to be a little suspicious. 

"You can*t prefer charges," said the skipper; "every officer 
knows it's true. No court-martial would convict him." 

"But isn't an old officer faithful in his duty going to 
have some protection?" expostulated the Exec. 

"Virtue and a clean conscience are a man's only shield 
and buckler," said the skipper as he left the room. 

We were alone together once more, but not for long. 

"You swear it's true what you've just told me?" he said, 
and I swore by some several known and unknown species 
of gods. 

"All right," says he, "you can go, but bring back the right 
book this time." 

As I was leaving I stopped in the doorway for a moment. 

"Can I ask Murphy about Yokohama?" says I. 

He leveled a pair of inscrutable eyes on me. 

"Keep away from that wicked old man," says he, "but 
if you do go near him confine your questions to the Captain ; 
leave me out of it, ye understand ?" 

I did. 



OUT O' LUCK 31 

Sept. 29th. — "The Exec, said that you were a Vicked 
old man' and for me to keep away from you," I remarked 
to the white-haired old boatswain's mate this evening. 

"He did, eh?" said the old fellow, glaring at me from 
under his eyebrows. 

"Yes," says I, "and he said that you were an 'old liar* 
and a 'slandering old devil,' " I continued cheerfully. 

"Ah, he did, eh?" repeated the aged person. "He said 
that, did he?" 

" *A wicked old man,* " I repeated, " *an old liar,' and lots 
more that I don't remember right now." 

"Now look here, young feller," began the boatswain's 
mate, pointing his equally venerable pipe at me, "now just 
you look here — I knew that man when he was nothing but 
a midshipman, and I have followed him around the world 
several times since, and for a more characterless, desperate 
acting, misbehaving man, you'd have to look somewhere 
other than in this world. Now I can remember once in 

Lisbon " And all this evening I have been learning 

things about the Navy and several of its officers. What 
days the old days must have been! What good old days! 
Not like these. 

Sept. 30th. — ^This day I found out what a windsail was. 
It is not at all a difficult thing to do. All you have to do 
is to fall down it, and if you come through alive your repu- 
tation is eternally made. I was already quite well known 
on this ship before but now I'm notorious. 

"There goes the guy wot fell down the windsail," they 
say as I pass by. 

"Yeah," says another, "an' wot lost the lead." 

"An' almost killed our ship's painter," adds a third. 

"Not to speak of laming our navigator by his clumsy 
falling and sprawling," puts in still another member of the 
company unwilling that one item of my long list of mis- 
deeds should pass unremarked. 

"Some sailor," they chime in a sarcastic chorus, "Wot a 



32 OUT O' LUCK 

guy," and I hasten on my way with bitterness in my heart. 
But all this has nothing to do with my quick road to fame 
via the windsail. And, after all, there is nothing to tell 
save that I fell down the thing. It wasn't at all what I 
thought it, neither are many other things. My inglorious 
career of trial and error in the Navy has taught me at 
least that much. Nothing is what you think it, not even 
liberty. Sometimes things are more so, sometimes less, but 
never true to form. That's life and largely stomach. Lots 
of the world's best poetry has come from a bad stomach 
and, of course, vice versa. Some of the finest murders of 
our times had their inception originally in a badly setting 
breakfast; divorces, marriages, fires and labor troubles — ^bad 
stomachs every time. If your food disagrees with you, you 
get married; if it continues to disagree you get unmarried, 
and if these expedients fail to work you get religion, dys- 
pepsia or buried. There's no getting away from your 
stomach. I've tried it; I know. It sometimes gets away 
from you, but you can never get away from it. Ever since 
I set foot upon this St. Vitus stricken ship I've been trying 
to get away from my stomach, what little there is of it, 
but it's been right with me all the time and it's been bad. 
I've never known my stomach to be so bad. It's been 
terrible. Upset and all that ; boxing the compass, doing the 
flips, standing on its ear and falling downstairs. Well, 
these are revolutionary times and every stomach is an out and 
out Bolshevist (popular conception). No stable government. 
No diplomatic exchange. No rest. Anarchy and torment from 
wave to wave. I never realized the sea could be so rough when 
I used to take my sweetie, that beautiful woman, out in a 
canoe on the lake, but maybe that was the reason. If 
sailors had their sweeties with them maybe they'd never 
get seasick. This is a good idea, but the Navy Department 
wouldn't like it, I guess. Much better to have them in 
every port; rich ones with automobiles and lots of food 
on the table and a floor that doesn't wiggle and a nice, 
big sofa in front of a swell fire and a couple of electric 



OUT O' LUCK 33 

lights burning somewhere down In the cellar — oh, boy, 
this small man's navy is making a polygamist of me, if 
that's the right word. I don't know that it is, because 
mother never let such words in the front door at home, 
never any further than that. She always said that her hus- 
band was as bad as she knew him to be and if he was any 
worse than that she'd have to hand it to him. She did — on 
numerous occasions. But then again this has nothing to do 
with the windsail I fell down. Well, that's all I did. 
Just fell down it. Lit on the back of my neck and stayed 
there for some time. I have read of people falling down 
the windsail, but I never knew they did it in real life. 
They do though, at least I do. But that doesn't matter, 
for I can do anything — ^wrong. 

Note. — For those who are unfamiliar with the windsail, 
and certainly there must be some, I might mention that it 
is a large, compact canvas tube with an open flare at the 
head, lots of wind inside, and a hole at the deck end through 
which the wind and unfortunate people like myself pass 
swiftly down into the interior of the ship. Well, that's a 
windsail, and I'm the "guy wot fell down it." That's who 
I am and will be ever more even if I should chance to meet, 
which I hope I don't, any member of this crew twenty years 
from now in any part of this world of ours. 

Oct. 1st. — ^Without word or warning we steamed up the 
Narrows to-day. If I had known yesterday that we were 
so close to home I would have jumped overboard and tried 
to swim it. We rate liberty to-morrow. Tony is already 
beginning to apply large quantities of horrid smelling oil 
to his hair. He claims to have a little pig that loves it. 
If so she must always have a cold In her head. 

Oct. and. — New York, a large city on the Hudson River, 
chiefly given over to coming and going. I have been here 
before, but I never thought that I'd ever get back again. 
The tall buildings are quite tall, the fine hotels are just that, 
there are many people on the streets and many streets for 



34 OUT O' LUCK 

them to be on, but I don't see why they are on the streets, 
for if I was in civilian clothes Td be in a cafe, and if I ever 
got into a cafe Vd never get back again to the street, and 
I'd be glad of it — for awhile. New York has a nice sub- 
way that gets quite excited around 42d street and loses its 
head and everybody loses their tempers, but this is all right, 
for it serves many a commuter with an excuse for getting 
home late for dinner, or not getting home at all, or getting 
home too much so, and all that. 

There are lots of nice canteens for sailors and soldiers 
in New York City, and in one of these canteens I found a 
grasshopper. How he had gotten there I don't know, but 
nevertheless there he was a-grasshoppering around in the 
most approved style, and most of the ladies were up on the 
tables getting their nice white canvas shoes all dirty in the 
soldiers* and sailors* soup, and if Coles Phillips, the ankle 
artist, had been there with his pad and pencil, he would 
have been able to get enough material to supply an adver- 
tising agency with a campaign extending over several years. 

Well, however that may be, I stalked this grasshopper 
from foot to soup, cornered him in a pile of baked beans, 
and eventually brought the grim pursuit to an end on the 
outskirts of some ham and eggs. No one would help me. 
They were all too busy looking at the ladies. 

"It isn't a rat," I explained to the ladies between hops. 

"No,** cried a sailor promptly, "but he's just as danger- 
ous.** 

So the ladies stayed where they were, which was evidently 
where most everybody thought they should be. 

After I had caught this grasshopper I didn't know what 
to do with it. It is hardly an animal that you can reconcile 
to captivity. Everywhere you put it it hops. You can't put 
it out and tell it to be still, and you can't threaten it with 
punishment as you would a dog, and still you can't kill 
it, particularly when on a visit to New York, as was evi- 
dently this grasshopper. 

"Take it outside!" several ladies cried in chorus, and so I 



OUT O' LUCK 35 

gathered up my bundle in one hand and caging the grass- 
hopper in the other I left amid cheers. But Fifth Avenue 
is no place for a grasshopper — not a live grasshopper. It's 
all right for a dead grasshopper or a despondent grass- 
hopper, but a live, cheerful active grasshopper should never 
go on Fifth Avenue. It's very bad hopping there. I put 
the old battler down, but nearly had heart failure because 
the very first hop sent him under the uplifted foot of a 
heavy pedestrian. Hoppers are not good navigators. Too 
reckless. With a loud yell I pushed the gentleman from 
off my unusual protege. 

"You nearly spoiled my grasshopper," I explained to him. 

From the man's expression I knew there was no doubt in 
his mind about my being balmy. 

"Grasshopper," he ejaculated, "humbug!'* 

"In a sense, yes," I answered ; "but this one isn*t a hum- 
bug, it's some bug. You just ought to see him hop." 

When we looked to find him he was no longer there, and 
the old guy thought I'd been kidding him. 

"No more of your tricks," he said, and passed on, leaving 
me groping around the feet of New York for a weak-minded 
grasshopper. 

"Pardon me, sir," I said suddenly to an English officer, 
"but you are about to step on my favorite grasshopper," and 
I scooped the greatly interrupted insect out from under his 
high polished boot. 

"Grasshopper," said the officer severely. "Grasshopper. 
Shouldn't be here. Not regular. Country the place for 
grasshoppers. Hang it all, it isn't right. Bad taste. Not 
cricket." 

"Oh, no," says I, misunderstanding him; "it's a grass- 
hopper all right, not a cricket." 

"No place for it," said the officer briefly. "It's not 
regular. All wrong." 

"Not for our grasshoppers," I replied. "You see, sir, 
American grasshoppers are altogether different from English 
grasshoppers. They are brought up differently; more lib- 



36 OUT O' LUCK 

erty, and all that. Frequently they spend weeks at a time 
in the city." 

"Fancy that," replied the officer, much perplexed, "but 
it*s all wrong. Not right. City no place for it. Good- 
bye." 

And he, too, passed down the street, leaving me with 
this grasshopper to dispose of. It seemed to have come 
into my life permanently. Suddenly I had a bright idea. 

"Why not take it over to the park back of the Library 
and let it go? There it can find everything that any reason- 
able grasshopper should expect. Lots of grass and plenty 
of room for hopping." 

I carried this move into effect, and just on the other side 
of Fifth Avenue — other, meaning the side opposite the one 
I had just left — I encountered an elderly naval officer and 
was forced to salute him. There was a bundle in my left 
hand and a grasshopper in my right, but I did my best. 

"Young man," said the officer blocking my progress, "are 
you shaking your fist at me?" 

"No, sir," says L 

"Well what^s the matter with your hand?" he asked in 
a suspicious voice. 

"I got a grasshopper in it," I replied very simply and 
unafFectedly. 

For a long time he gazed searchingly in my face as if 
trying to read my mind. I could see that he received my 
information with the greatest distrust. Presently curiosity 
overcame his dignity. 

"Let's see it," says he. 

I held my hand up and let him peek through the fingers 
through which the beady eyes of the grasshopper peered out 
upon the world with great discontent. 

"See it!" says I excitedly. "See it!" 

And with this remark the poor benighted insect made one 
leap for freedom and landed upon the officer's breast. For 
a moment it looked like an assault. I pounced upon the 




'you nearly spoiled my grasshopper' " — Page 55 







«* ««,»,. ^», 



WHAT S SO BLOOMING WONDERFUL ABOUT THIS,' SAYS I, EDGING BEHIND 

AN OPEN WORK chair" — Page 42 



OUT O' LUCK 39 

grasshopper, and consequently had to pounce upon the 
officer, and nearly tore his campaign stripes off. 

"Got him," says I triumphantly. 

The officer regained his balance and regarded me darkly. 

"Keep him," he says, and hctchels away. 

So I kept him until I got into the park, and here I 
launched him forth to freedom with much ceremony. 

"Good hopping, old sport," says I as I tossed him to 
the grass. 

But, strange to relate, he didn*t hop. All he did was 
to sit there and curl his whiskers at me for all the world 
like a mad photographer I once knew. I couldn't drag my- 
self away from the spot until I saw him hop. I feared he 
had gone sick on me. The moral responsibility of having 
a grasshopper on one's hands is something tremendous. And 
as I stood gazing down into the grass a crowd gathered 
around me and also gazed down into the grass. Of course 
the crowd didn't see the grasshopper, but it earnestly hoped 
to see something, so it added unto itself and gazed. Then 
suddenly the thing happened. It hopped. 

"See," says I proudly, "he will do it again." 

"What?" asked an old man. 

"Who?" cried some one. 

"What'll he do again ?" another one called out. 

"Stand back, lemme see!" a fourth one shouted. 

"Watch," I commanded. "Watch close." 

Again the grasshopper proved himself worthy of his name 
and race by hopping. 

"What did I tell you ?" I said as I walked away ; "he did 
it, and if you watch carefully he'll do it again. In fact," 
I added, to heighten the mystery, "that's all he can do." 

The crowd was still gazing as I departed. It is the 
nature of crowds to gaze, and it is the nature of grass- 
hoppers to hop, and I for one would not want it a bit dif- 
ferent. "As it is, so it is," say I. 

Oct. 3rd. — Met Gladys to-day and took her to tea. 
Score by innings: 



40 OUT O' LUCK 



5 P.M, 


5.15 P.M. 5.45 


6 P.M. 


Tea 


Lemonade Ice Cream 


Cakes 


Sandwiches 


Cakes CofFee 


Almonds 


French Pastry 


Sandwiches Cakes 


Salad 


6.15 


Grand total 




Demi Tasse 






Cakes 






Cakes 


$9.85 





That girl has the most fluent appetite I ever encountered. 
And the strange thing about it is that it seems to do her 
good. Even her dog Dippy who is no slouch at eating 
hands her the palm when it comes to a contest. 

Oct. 9th. — Numerous important and painful things have 
happened to me, but I am still quite vague about them all. 
I remember sitting in a friend's apartment on my last lib- 
erty feeling very hot and doing some particularly fancy 
coughing, and then I remember some one getting up sud- 
denly and looking at me in a peculiar, frightened way, then 
I coughed again, laughed rather foolishly and it seems I was 
then put to bed. From that time on, life assumed a cubist ex- 
pression. I recall vividly oranges, a kind lady reading to 
me while I traced a map of the western front from the 
cracks in the plaster on the ceiling. There seemed to be 
a certain quantity of broth and milk and a long procession 
of glittering thermometers somehow connected to a doctor 
with a pointed beard, a great deal of unnecessary heat cir- 
culating around my anatomy and always a splendid accom- 
paniment of coughing. At one time I remember mother 
came swooning into the room and delivered an impassioned 
dissertation on underwear, her favorite subject; and then 
Polly, my sweetie, arrived and sat down beside me like a 
thwarted nun and gave me to understand that she would 
cheerfully sign a guarantee to forgive me all my past and 
future sins if I would only get well, and then she went away 



OUT O' LUCK 41 

just as I was telling her about the sad case of a broken- 
down elephant suffering from nervous prostration that had 
come to me in the dark hours of the previous night and sat 
heavily on my chest. She left, but I continued the story; 
and the funny part of it was that I believed it, at least they 
say I did. 

Then one morning the doctor came and after listening 
eagerly to the animated conversation of my lungs, asked me 
how I would like to go to a hospital. 

*'Don't be silly," says I, 'Tm very busy and I've a lot 
of things to do." 

"Get ready," says he, giving my left side an extra jab for 
good luck, "get ready if you can, for the ambulance will be 
here in fifteen minutes." 

He departed and I arose more or less horrified and messed 
heatedly around in a world of infinite space and no security 
until a man in white suddenly appeared to me with a little 
book in his hands and began to ply me with purely rudi- 
mentary questions. 

"What's your name?'* he asked in a bored voice. 

"It doesn't matter about the name," I replied, "I won*t 
be answering to it long.'* 

"Perhaps not," he agreed cheerfully, "but this is official.'* 

After that we departed the spot and I saw it no more. I 
had to climb down six flights of stairs and they taxed me 
greatly. I progressed with stately elaboration, considering 
which landing would be the best to go to sleep on. The 
man in white kept looking at me with an impatient scowl, 
but made no effort to help me. 

"Sorry, old chap," I said, to keep you from your pinochle, 
"but only one boiler is working at present." The street was 
lined with expectant and morbidly interested people. 

"Wot cher got, mister?" one worthy asked. 

"Fits,** I answered, "with a deadly complication of bu- 
bonic plague. While I have been speaking I have given off 
exactly 7,895,372 extremely nosey germs. You have gotten 
many of them.** 



42 OUT O' LUCK 

After this I staggered to the ambulance and fell within. 
At the hospital I was greeted by a flock of nurses who con- 
voyed me to my room. 

"Get undressed, sonny," said one of them while the rest 
crowded cheerfully around the door, 

"All right," says I, waiting for her to leave. 

"All right," says she, not leaving. 

"All right," says I, rather unhappily. 

"Start in," says she in a business-like voice. 

"You promise to marry me," says I, taking off my shoes. 

"Oh," she says as light dawned upon her, "you want me 
to go." 

"Well, it would be easier," I admitted, and she withdrew, 

I had just gotten down to my shirt, when the door burst 
open and all the nurses in the world stood without regard- 
ing me anxiously. 

"Atta, boy," called one of them in tones of encourage- 
ment. 

"You*re doing fine," cried another. 

"What*s so blooming wonderful about this?" says I, edg- 
ing behind an open-work chair. "I have undressed myself 
for a long time now — ever since Bridget left." 

"Go to it," says one of them, and I was forthwith bundled 
into bed, at which moment I drew a complete blank. 

Oct. 1 2th. — Much better. I permitted Polly to kiss my 
hand this evening. It was interestingly thin. Mother has 
been shopping for a particularly thick brand of underwear 
all afternoon against my departure. I told her to interview 
Admiral Peary, who knew all about such things. She took 
his name down and said she*d look him up in the telephone 
book immediately. I have had a crisis and everything, but 
I'm not going to die for quite some time, Fm told. That's 
nice. 

Oct. 13th. — Complications. The playful little pleurisy 
has me in its clutches. It's one of those things that has to 
be felt and not described. No sleep, no rest. Constant 



OUT O' LUCK 43 

misery. I asked the doctor if he was sure that I wasn't 
going to die and when he said "Yes" I almost cried. 

"Well, well, how are you feeling now?" asked the nurse 
this morning as she swooped cheerfully into the room. I 
had sat up all night with a hot water bottle and burned 
myself in several places which were so intimate that I could 
hardly indulge in the comfort of complaining about them. 

"Well," says I, wearily, "after all the agony Fve been 
through the least you could do would be to come across with 
a little petting." 

"You don't deserve to get well after that," says the nurse, 
leaving the room with false dignity. 

Oct. 17th. — Out of pain. Wonder how Fogerty is. 
Hope he hasn't caught the "flu." Any one wishing to verify 
the size and quantity of my illness needs only to look at 
my chart. The fever page looks like a sketch of the Andes 
Mountain range. Polly has just left. She's a beautiful 
woman but a trifle too resolute. 

Oct. 1 8th. — I almost cried when I left the hospital this 
afternoon. I'd sort of gotten used to the place and the 
life of an invalid. I thanked every one profusely, including 
the elevator boy and told them that they had saved my 
life. They admitted it, and I guess they did. The lady 
whose apartment I used to get sick in had a hand in it, too. 
She was first to the front and got all the good coughing, 
and was eternally compromised in the eyes of two school- 
teachers who lived in the next flat. 

Oct. 19th. — Reported aboard today. No sympathy. 
Why do they always say "The good ship so and so" ? I see 
nothing good about a ship except the gangplank and "Lay 
aft, liberty party!" 

Oct. 23rd. — (In the general direction of France) Sick, 
that's all; just plain sick. 

Oct. 26th. — (Leaving the war) For full information 
reread entry of Oct. 23rd. 



44 OUT O' LUCK 

Nov. 2nd. — (Near New York — ^maybe) The remarks 
of Oct. 23rd and 26th still hold good. 

Nov. 5th. — (New York) "Lay aft, liberty party!" 
The Boatswain has just uttered those magic words. I find 
no trouble in "laying aft." It's the best thing I do. Now 
I shall proceed to let Polly admire me make away with a 
pair of plutocratic steaks. 

Nov. 1 2th. — Well, it's over; all, all over, and I haven't 
any wound stripes on my arm. What an inglorious part I 
have played in the war. I havCj fallen down and gotten sick 
and made mistakes and boxed the compass and done endless 
useless things, but haven't even seen a periscope. How I 
will have to lie to my grandchildren, I can now under- 
stand why poor, dear grandfather lies so abundantly about 
his leg that got caught in a folding bed. He feels morally 
obligated to posterity to tell about his heroic exploits in war. 
I'll have to go through with it, too. 

Last night was not a pretty night. People kissed me. 
Everywhere I went I was kissed just as resoundingly as if 
I had been the greatest hero. But they were never the 
right people. I suspected them of having been rebuffed by 
other sailors stronger than I. One very pretty girl kissed 
me, however, and Polly almost bit her. After this we soon 
went home, Polly abusing me all the way. 

"Why didn't you stop her?" she asked bitterly. 

"I was too tired, Polly," I replied. "You see for your- 
self, dear, I can't help being what I am." 

"If I thought you could," said Polly, "I'd have no respect 
for you.'* 

I chewed on this remark for quite some time. There's a 
lot more in it than meets the eye. Women are that way. 

Nov. 14th. — The old camp has been blighted by a swarm 
of very new and bright assistant paymasters. Today I 
visited it and found the woods full of them. Everywhere 
I went they were lookiiig for their orders. "More pay- 
masters than pay," mused I, looking bitterly at an approach- 



OUT O' LUCK 45 

ing swarm. As they passed me I saluted them gravely and 
they returned my salute with gratitude. 

The place is quite changed. I found any number of 
Chiefs doing sentry duty. I guess the Ensigns are manning 
the drags, but I did not actually see this. Everything is 
being done to make it easy and comfortable for the ordinary 
seaman. 

Mr. Fogerty, my old dog, was moderately glad to see 
me. He was talking things over with Chief Larry near a 
very imposing coal pile. Fogerty is very anxious to be 
mustered out and get back into civil life. He has a couple 
of families over at City Island to support, not to mention 
a few down at New Rochelle and White Plains. He has 
traveled far in his day, has Fogerty, and never have I met 
a dog that so glories in his past indiscretion, 

Nov. 1 6th. — (Looking backward) He was sitting on 
the tool box of an automobile with his feet on the running 
board, and strange to relate he was sitting in his stocking 
feet. Placed carefully beside him were his large, expressive, 
nobbed-nosed, navy shoes. Through the long slits of the 
city fell the vast night, clamorous with the voices of people, 
the honking of horns which sounded like a large flock of 
disturbed geese passing southward through the night, and 
from the river came the deep, vibrating notes of a host of 
craft forming a sort of monotonous background of sound 
for the shriller noise arising from the multitude. The 
world moved through the streets of New York like an undu- 
lating, sombre colored ribbon. There were no single pedes- 
trians. There was no room for the solitary traveler. Hu- 
manity, as if drawn by some vast magnet in the hands of 
an irresponsible god, was squeezed and moulded into a solid 
river of life, flowing and pouring confusedly wherever an 
opening was presented. It was a flow of sound and un- 
bridled triumphant rejoicing. Never in the history of the 
world had there been such a river. For four years the peo- 
ple that went to compose this mass had been held subdued 



46 OUT O' LUCK 

and in leash, fear ridden, wracked by doubts and hitherto 
unknown bitterness, and now, on this night, the war was 
over and the phantom that had hung like a shadow for so 
long over their drab, every-day lives was being chased 
back into the night on the wings of a great noise. Here 
was the brutality of happiness divorced from all the cloying 
niceties of so called civilization, expressive and true in its 
sheer vulgarity and freedom. Here the numerous proprie- 
ties enforced by modern society were shown up in their 
true light as flimsy bits of drapery which man immediately 
discards in the face of any strong emotion. The next day 
the papers wrote indignant editorials on the coarseness and 
immorality of the celebration, a fact which proved that even 
in the face of evidence the editors still believe they can 
control the hearts of men with the same ease and precision 
with which type is run into the columns of their papers. 
Men read these editorials ironically and went their way 
rejoicing. Long after they were forgotten this great night 
would spring up in their thought as a particularly pleasant 
and thrilling memory, and they would tell their grand- 
children about it in a discreetly abridged version. 

As I read over these lines I have written I am wondering 
whether I am starting a novel or writing a diary. Certainly 
they sound novelesque. I think I might even show them 
to Polly, that beautiful and gracious creature, as sarcastic as 
she is sweet, which means some sarcasm at times. Yes, I 
might even show them to her, so pleased am I with them, 
if only to convince her that my literary leanings are really 
not literary flounderings, as she takes so much pleasure in 
assuring me every time I read her a poem composed to her 
eyes and in her honor. 

In the meantime, I am leaving a certain party sitting 
quietly in his stocking feet on the tool box of an automobile. 

"Sit down," said the certain party, seemingly oblivious to 
all the turbulent masses seething around him. 

"Sit down," he repeated, "me dogs hurt." 



OUT O' LUCK 47 

"Corns?" said I, sinking wearily to the running board of 
the deserted car. 

"Bunions," said the sailor moodily. "Terrible painful 
after being stepped on." 

"I can well imagine," I replied, sympathetically. 

"No you can't," said the sailor in an injured voice as 
though I was depreciating his pain. "No you can't," he 
repeated, "unless you've ever had *em. Have yer?" he 
added looking at me with much interest. 

"No," I answered reluctantly, "but I know all about 
them. We had a cook once named Nora and she had them 
all the time." 

"I guess she didn't have 'em any worse than mine," he 
replied jealously. 

"Oh, no," said I, "certainly not. I guess you've got the 
worst attack of bunions a fellow ever had." 

"Sure," said he, "you've said something." 

We were quiet for awhile, busy with our own thoughts. 
Mine were largely composed of Polly, whom I had just tak- 
en home and faithfully promised to go to bed and keep off 
the streets where the women insisted, despite my modest pro- 
testations, upon kissing me, and here I was, breaking my 
promise, sitting in the middle of Times Square with a sailor 
afflicted of bunions while all the world swarmed round our 
feet. 

"Now I knew a guy," began the sailor, "as thought him- 
self taken with bunions. In fact, he claimed to have had 
the worst — " 

And thus started a long discussion on the nature and 
habits of the domestic bunion with which I will not trouble 
the reader. For my part, I had very little to give to this 
discussion and consequently was forced to listen to a lengthy 
dissertation from the sailor, whose knowledge of the sub- 
ject seemed well nigh inexhaustible. Thus, calmly in the 
face of one of the largest, noisiest and most spontaneous 
celebrations ever known in the history of such events we 



48 OUT O' LUCK 

sat and talked bunions, which perhaps, after all, is about 
as good a thing to do as any in such circumstances. 

After he had succeeded in convincing me that he was a 
person deserving of the utmost solicitude, he became quite 
cheerful and immediately forgetting his great affliction he 
put on his shoes and we proceeded to talk of the sea and 
ships as all real sailors do when they are thrown in each 
other's company. 

"Troopship, eh," he replied in response to my answer. 
"You're lucky. All I've been doing is snooping around 
the coast along with a lot of excitable furriners what went 
loco every time a submarine was even so much as mentioned. 
I got boiled on one of them southern islands once an' al- 
most lost me ship. What a night ! Worse than this. Much 
broader." 

With this he thrust his arm into the after part of the 
automobile and produced, much to my surprise, a pair of 
golf clubs. 

"See what they got in this machine," he said, looking 
curiously at the sticks. "I guess they must be carpenters 
or mechanics or something, although I dixln't ever see any 
®f these instruments used in those trades. What do you 
think they are?" 

"Why, they are golf sticks,'* I replied amazed at his 
ignorance. 

"What are golf," he asked looking at me innocently. 

"Golf," I answered. "Oh, golf is a sort of a game 
indulged in by the so-called upper classes and practically 
the entire population of Scotland and the Union League 
Club." 

"Oh, sure, I heard of it," he replied and reaching back 
into the automobile once more he produced a thermos bottle. 

"Oh, look," he exclaimed, his eyes growing large, "whatta 
ye guess is in here?" 

"Don't know," I replied. "Take a chance and open it." 

He opened it and proceeded to sniff suspiciously. 

"There's something in it," he whispered, his eyes dancing. 







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tr^r- 



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n 



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n 



r r 
-t r 
■» r 



t. 



M. 



P' n^ 




" 'see that window over there?' " — Pagg 51 




'it seems that MR. FOGERTY's SWEETIE HAS GIVEN HIM THE GO BY ** — 

Page 56 



OUT O' LUCK 51 

"Taste it," I answereH, hardly able to restrain my ex- 
citement. 

He tasted it and handed the bottle to me. 

"Whatta ye think it is?" he said. 

"I don't exactly know," I said, smacking my lips, "but 
let's not inquire. As long as we don't know what we are 
drinking we can't be blamed for drinking it, see?" 

He looked at me and smiled. 

"You're some wise guy all right," said he. "No wonder 
you get along so well in the navy.'* 

I shuddered at this remark. 

"Don't feel so cold now, does it?" he said presently, after 
the mysterious bottle had exchanged hands numerous times. 

"No," says I, "I believe it's actually gotten warmer." 

"Sure it's getting warmer all the time," he replied and 
reached for the bottle. 

After we had taken a couple of more tugs at the halyards 
we found that we were against the bottom and we further 
found that the running board of the automobile was no 
longer large enough to hold us. In fact, the whole night 
seemed a little cramped for our exuberant spirits. 

"Let's play golf," suggested my friend. 

"All right," I agreed readily, "but we've got to find a 
golf ball." 

"What's this?" he asked, producing one. 

"That's the little thing," I replied, and together we set 
oif in search of a place in which to play our game. 

Right in the middle of the street we found such a place. 
Owing to some unfinished street mending the people were 
unable to crowd on to this small spot and so we had just 
sufficient room for a swing. 

"What do you do?" says he. 

"I'll show you," says I, as I carefully set the ball and ad- 
dressed it with the utmost politeness. 

"See that window over there," I said, pointing to the 
second story of a clothing shop across the street. "The one 



52 OUT O' LUCK 

all lighted up with the figure of a guy wearing the latest 
Varsity cut 191 9* model in it?" 

"Yeah," said he, still puzzled. 

"Well, concentrate your attention on me and that win- 
dow. I'm an old hand at this game." 

With this I set myself, raised the club and brought it 
down with a resounding whack upon the ball. It was one 
of the cleanest, most powerful strokes I have ever made. It 
would have found the green on any course in the world. 
My only regret is that the window was in the way. But 
the window was in the way. We could not follow the 
course of the ball, but we had no difficulty in locating it. 
There was a sudden, soul satisfying shattering of glass and 
instantly thereafter the gentleman in the "varsity cut" clothes 
became very much disturbed. His hat tilted over his in- 
offensive wax nose and his out-board arm swung crazily. 
Numerous people gazed up at the window, but no one 
seemed to know or care from which direction the missile 
had come. 

"Lord," breathed my friend, "what a wallop!" 

He ran back of the automobile and returned with another 
ball. 

"Let me try," he pleaded. 

"Go to it," I said, giving him a few instructions and 
feeling highly delighted over the success of my last shot. 
"Don't worry about the window ; they're all insured." 

His first half a dozen swings missed the ball completely 
and only succeeding in arousing his ill temper and putting 
more power in his arms. Suddenly he hit it. The departed 
spirit of some great golf champion must have guided his 
stroke. 

"Listen!" he gasped, as the sound of breaking glass fell 
pleasantly upon the night. 

The figure of an Egyptian king, sitting in envious ad- 
miration before the figure of an upstanding young gentle- 
man clad proudly in another style of "varsity cut" clothes, 



OUT O' LUCK 53 

suddenly crumbled up on his throne and seemed to lose all 
interest in the object of his admiration. 

This was too much for my friend. He almost broke down 
from joy. He embraced me and danced around like the 
not infrequently referred-to wild Indian. 

"What a game!" he kept repeating. "What a game! 
I'm going to buy me a lot of them funny little golf balls 
and play it all me life." 

We returned to the automobile with the clubs, but the 
car had disappeared completely, and the spot thereof knew 
it no more. From that time on this sailor man and I 
wandered around the town in each other's company, get- 
ting kisses and refreshments whenever the opportunity pre- 
sented itself, which it did with a certain degree of frequency. 
I must confess that for the time being I had completely 
forgotten Polly and, furthermore, may it be set down to 
my everlasting shame that I reported aboard with* my hat 
tied on with some woman's automobile scarf and a golf 
stick in my hand. 

On my way to the ship I encountered an old woman 
standing miserably on a corner in the dim, early morning 
light. In one hand was a bucket, in the other she held a 
mop. 

"It's all over, mother," I cried. "It's all over." 

But she merely stared before her. 

"It's all over," I repeated, thinking to arouse the old lady. 
"The war is over." 

For a moment she continued to stare in that same dull 
way into nothingness, then she turned on me with a slow, 
crooked smile, and one thin, bony hand sought her eyes. 
She bowed her head, and for some reason I felt sure there 
were tears beneath that withered old hand. 

"It's all over," I repeated softly to myself, and for the 
first time the full, ironical significance of what I had been 
shouting to the lonely old woman became clear to me, and 
with that knowledge the joy of the past night grew sour 
in my throat. 



54 OUT O' LUCK 

Nov. 1 8th. — Well, it's all over with me. Tim, Tony, 
the Spider and myself have been detached from the ship 
and ordered to report back to Pelham. How will I ever 
be able to stand that place after having enjoyed the freedom 
of the seas. We're to be released, I understand, but a 
certain amount of vagueness is attached to this point. Al- 
ready the Spider has begun to sandpaper his fingers. He 
says that the rough work he has been doing while in the 
Navy has completely ruined his hands for safe cracking. 
His fingers fairly itch to get back on a good tough combina- 
tion. Yesterday he relieved Tim of all his loose change 
and handed it back to him later, saying he was merely get- 
ting back into practice, and this morning he passed among 
the ship's company, distributing little tokens he had re- 
moved from certain of its members during the last trip. 
From all sides he was greeted with expressions of admira- 
tion on the part of those he had so honored. After the 
ceremony he returned to us feeling both proud and reas- 
sured. We treat him now in a friendly manner, but are 
a trifle distant at the same time. The Spider has a habit of 
stealing our money and then asking us to loan it to him. 
This we are necessarily forced to do, under the circum- 
stances. 

It is now time for us to shove off. I have said good-bye 
to friend and enemy alike. Even the ship's painter smiled 
when I apologized to him for the last time for having 
dropped my hammock on him and knocking him off the 
scow. The Quartermaster forgave me for losing the lead, 
and everybody seemed to be happy and relieved to see me 
go. I expericncd a similar feeling myself, and when I came 
on deck and looked down the channel at a long, restive ex- 
panse of putty-colored water it was with a sensation of 
great thankfulness that I shouldered my bag and ham- 
mock and left the ship upon which I had served with a 
degree of uselessness hitherto unachieved by any sailor in 
any navy. 



OUT O' LUCK , S5 

Nov. 19th. — (Back at Pelham.) 

"My God! Are you back again?" said an apparently 
horror-stricken officer, as I stood before the mast on the 
charge of having a dirty bag. 

"Yes, sir," I reph'ed, cheerfully. "And I had earnestly 
hoped never to see your face again, sir." 

For a moment we stood gazing reflectively at each other. 
Then a broad, friendly smile made its appearance on the 
officer's face, lending to it a hitherto unsuspected human 
expression. 

"Well, what did you do to the ship you were on?" he 
asked. 

"Practically everything, sir," I replied, modestly. "In 
fact, it is claimed that I almost ruined it." 

"Not at all unlikely, if you ran true to form," he an- 
swered, still smiling. 

"I did, sir," I said. "I ran true to form, and in some 
instances surpassed myself." 

"Good!" said the officer, approvingly. "And now you're 
going up for a shoot." 

There was hardly any answer to this remark that I could 
well make. However, my face assumed a sort of smeared 
expression, and the more smeared my expression became the 
more cheerful grew the officer. 

"Well, it's hardly the way to welcome you back from 
the sea, I'll admit," began the officer. "Perhaps your bag 
got soiled, so to speak, in the process of transportation." 

He looked at me and smiled strangely. 

"It did, sir," I replied, without turning a hair. "It was 
very dusty coming up." 

"All right," says he. "Under the circumstances it's ex- 
cusable, but remember, regulations are regulations in the 
future." 

To my dying day I'll remember that sentence. Years 
from now I expect to wake up in bed repeating it to my- 
self. And with this I departed the spot. 



56 OUT O' LUCK 

Nov. 23rd. — More hitherto family-free sailors are dis- 
covering unsuspected families and dependents than I ever 
knew existed before. Every day some sailor breaks down 
on my breast and sobs over the great suffering and depriva- 
tion of an aged parent and seventeen brothers and sisters 
caused by his absence from home. I myself am trying to 
rake up a couple of perfectly helpless dependents, but I'm 
having a tough time of it. I know one aged bar-keep who 
more or less depended upon me in his declining years, but 
somehow I haven't the nerve to write him into my applica- 
tion, although I'm sure the old gentleman deserves having 
some one to look after him. However, I'm afraid I'm not 
that person, because in all likelihood I will need a great 
deal of looking after once I'm mustered out of the service, 
but that has nothing to do with my diary. 

Dec. 1st. — Nothing to report save that this is another 
month and my tapes are still dirty! Steps must be taken 
or I'll be going to the mat with my P. O. for the seven- 
teenth hundred time since my first jab. My spirit remains 
unbroken, however. I exult in my ignorance and glory in 
my mistakes. 

Dec. 2nd. — (Holiday for some reason I haven't troubled 
to enquire about.) Chicken, corn, pumpkin pie and trim- 
mings. I saved the neck for Mr. Fogerty. The poor, 
simple-souled dog had hardly the heart to eat it. There 
are enough lovesick sailors In camp as it is without the dogs 
getting the complaint. It seems that Mr. Fogerty 's sweetie 
over in City Island has given him the go by. He's not the 
first to meet such a fate in that quarter, I'll tell the world. 

The smoking lamp was lighted all day and consequently 
I was very popular with the "Spider" and his two com- 
panions, Tony and Tim, on the strength of a shipment of 
fags that mother left with me at the time of her last in- 
cursion on the privacy of the camp. There was little drill- 
ing to-day, but what there was was enough. Spent most 
of the afternoon in washing my tapes, sewing on buttons, 



OUT O' LUCK 57 

scrubbing my bag and providing my friends with matches 
to enable them to light the cigarettes they had borrowed 
from me. 

Dec. 3rd. — Took an unnecessarily long walk with an un- 
necessarily heavy gun to an unnecessarily stupid place, then 
the reel was reversed and we proceeded back to camp, 
astounding the populace by our unnecessarily intricate for- 
mations. I have never been able to master the company 
square for the same reason, I reckon, that I was always a 
bum at ring-around-a-rosie in my childish days. Kissing 
games I could play, but no one would ever play them with 
me. "What's the use," they used to say. "You're too 
willing." I will admit it was more of an arrangement than 
a game when I took part in them. 

Dec. 4th. — Rose early and went to the mat with the 
Master-at-arms. He said I lashed my hammock like a 
dowdy woman laced. I hardly consider this a very nice 
thing to say and would not put it down here were it not 
that I want to show the low order of the man's conversa- 
tional attainments. I told him that I was unable to appre- 
ciate the full purport of his remarks for the reason that all 
my sweeties were trimly stayed fore and aft and sailed 
before the wind. My remark, however, did not prevent me 
from relashing my hammock and doing it over again. I 
could not help thinking of what the Jimmy-legs had said 
about, it, however, and kept laughing to myself at the idea. 
I now call my hammock "My Sloppy Old Jane." Such 
simple things amuse us isolated sailors. 

Dec. 5th. — Tony, Tim, the Spider and I have taken to 
calling each other "Shipmates" around the barracks. It 
breaks the Jimmy-legs' heart, as he has never been to sea. 

Dec. 6th. — ^An orderly almost kissed me this morning, 
but thank God, was able to suppress his burning desires at 
the sight of my repellent face. 



58 OUT O' LUCK 

"A lady is calling you on the wire," he said jealously. 

"My dear," I said, not wishing to get in wrong with 
him. "Fm sure there must be some mistake. I have no 
interests outside of camp." 

He departed, relieved, but I answered the call in my 
quiet, unassuming way. It was from Polly, my permanent 
sweet; the beautiful woman I hope to make my jailer. 

"Biltmore, dear," she said, just like that, "I'm just crazy 
to announce our engagement, and I want you to ask the 
Captain if you can get off soon and come down to the affair. 
Maybe he'd come too, do you think so, dear?" 

"Well, hon," says I, for once bold, "he's awfully busy 
now, but I'm sure he'd love to come if he could." 

You see, I'd told the poor girl, as sailors do, that the 
skipper and myself were awfully clubby and that he rec- 
ognized me as the most dependable man on the station and 
that we often played croquet together on the lawn of the 
officers' club. In fact, I had to tell her lots of things in 
order to induce her to become permanent instead of prom- 
issory. All men do under the circumstances — and all wom- 
en, too, for that matter. As a rule both sides know the 
other is lying, but they respect each other for their ability 
and consideration. A man that won't lie to the woman he 
loves, loves truth more than the woman and women can't 
stand that. However, my observations are dropping to a 
low moral plane which is not good for those who are not 
rugged at heart and ragged at ethics. 

"But you will come, won't you, Biltmore?" she continues, 
pulling the dear stuff again. "The party wouldn't be com- 
plete without you." 

"You mean the calamity," says I. 

Then she wanted to make arrangements for next Satur- 
day and I let her because she seemed so happy and excited 
about it all. 

"Where shall I meet you?" she says. **We must kave 
tea all by ourselves first." 

I thought for a moment, for the presence of gold lace 



OlCKo I 



=UlllilllfllllUlfmf||l||;^ 



.1 




immznmEizimQSS 




"the beautiful woman I HOPE TO MAKE MY jailek"— Page S9 




mmmlmmmammmammmmmimmmmmmmmammmmmmmmmmmmmmmammmmmmmmmimmmmmfmm 1 

'my eye, what a walkI she did everything but loop-the-loop " 

— Page 66 



OUT O' LUCK 6i] 

hanging furtively around in the background made me a 
little anxious. 

"You'd better stay home, sweetie," I said, "there are too 
many young Ensigns sticking about here for me to give lo- 
cations. I don^t put anything past them." 

With this I hung up and v^^alked past several of the 
above mentioned race of people, w^ho eyed me with venom, 
I must keep Polly away from the Ensigns at all cost. No 
matter how white your tapes are, gold lace has the edge. 

Dec. 7th. — A personal and unconditional triumph in the 
grim, continuous battle between myself and my superiors. 

Early in the afternoon we were told to go out on the 
parade ground and brush up a bit on our semaphore. 
"Brush up!" thinks I to myself. "How are you going to 
brush up when there ain't anything to brush. The ship that 
depended on me for signalling would remain deaf and 
dumb." I thought this, but to myself. The only letter I 
felt sure about was A and I didn't remember quite whether 
it was optional which hand you used. 

With the utmost confidence, however, I took my flags 
and proceeded to the middle of the parade ground where I 
hid myself behind the huge figure of Tim and began to 
wave my arms about in an aimless manner. Aside from 
becoming a trifle tired I was getting away fine until a 
C. P. O. hotchels up to me and stands observing my move- 
ments with horrified, dilated eyes. This made me so ner- 
vous, that my arms began swinging around convulsively at 
a tremendous speed. I looked like a gaudy, but conscientious 
electric fan. Perspiration streamed down my face and neck, 
and still he watched. His expression gave way from hor- 
ror to amazement and from that to fury. 

"Time !" he shouted suddenly. "Time ! Stop what you're 
doing, whatever it may be." 

I threw myself into low and gradually slowed down to 
a neutral. 



62 OUT O' LUCK 

"What," asked the Chief with much deliberation, "what 
in the world do you think you've been doing?" 

"Semaphoring, Chief," says I promptly. 

"Ah," says the Chief, drawing a deep breath preparatory 
to a long burst of eloquence, insult and invective. "So 
that's what you've been doing. Well, I've been observing 
you closely for more than half an hour and although the 
semaphore system is so arranged that it is almost impossible 
for a man not to make a letter in the natural evolution of 
his arms, you seem to have been able to achieve this truly 
remarkable, well nigh unbelievable feat. How did you ever 
do it? Do you know one letter, even one?^' 

"I can spell words," I said proudly, but lyingly, "great 
long words." 

"Spell one," said the Chief briefly. 

"All right," says I. 

"What's the word?" he asks. 

"Oh, no," says I, cagey-like. "I ain't agoing to tell you 
the word. You just watch." 

At this point I gave Tim the wink and he stood by to 
assist. Thereupon I began to wave my arms around fran- 
tically. 

"What's that?" I asks the Chief after coming to a stop 
with a particularly catching flourish. 

"Nothing," says the Chief. "Absolutely nothing." 

"Wrong," says I snappily. "What is it, Tim?" 

"Our little home," says Tim. 

"Right," says I. "Now, Chief, I'll send you another one.'* 

This time I did some really startling evolutions and added 
several elaborate extra wiggles. 

"Get that, Chief?" says I. 

"No, nor nobody else," says the Chief. 

"Wrong," says I. "What is it, Tim?" 

"The camp we love," says Tim. 

"Right," says I. "Watch me close, Chief, I'll send you 
another one." 

By this time quite a crowd of sailors had gathered around 



OUT O' LUCK 63 

to observe the circus. Among them I saw the rat-like 
"Spider's" eyes gleaming forth. 

'What's that, Buddy," I cried to him after I had fin- 
ished my contortions. 

"Sweetie," cried the Spider promptly. 

"Right," I shouted. "See, Chief, anybody seems to be 
able to read my signals. Try this." 

Here I went through some mystifying passes before the 
man's perplexed eyes and came to an abrupt finish. 

"What's that ?" I shouted to the crowd. 

"Great, big, blue eyes," some one replied. 

"Right," says I, with finality, before anyone else had a 
chance to guess. The poor Chief's amazement was really 
pathetic. He turned away a broken man. 

"Oh, go to hell the all of yers," he muttered. "Get out 
of my sight. Period's over. Into your barracks." 

We left him in the midde of the parade ground in a 
crumpled condition. He was passing his hands over his 
dazed eyes. Later in the day we caught sight of him read- 
ing signals sent by another Chief. He was evidently con- 
vincing himself that he wasn't crazy. He turned around 
and saw me — but not for long. 

Dec. 8th. — The favor of the gods was withdrawn from 
me to-day. Probably as a result of my yesterday's success. 
Failed to catch a 43 hours' liberty. Been washing windows. 
I can see the Chief's fine hand in this. 

Dec. 9th. — Special war extra: Mr. Fogerty has the 
cooties. He has no pride. I am crushed. 

What with scratching Mr. Fogerty and scrubbing my 
whites I have had scant time for availing myself of the 
solace of intellectual recreation derived from writing my 
diary. The depraved dog approaches me and gazes into 
my eyes in such a miserable and pathetic manner that I 
cannot withhold the craved for assistance. What a virile 
race the cooties must be! What families! What dili- 
gence! What fun! 



64 OUT O' LUCK 

Dec. loth. — ^The trench dog Fogerty seems now to con- 
sider his unsavory visitation as being a mark of special honor. 
He passed one of our most aristocratic goats to-day with- 
out even so much as flopping an ear. As a matter of fact, 
Fogerty is a well born dog himself and displayed all the 
characteristics of a careful and gentle rearing when I first 
knew him. I am sure he must have come from a home of 
culture and refinement. Now look at him — fleas, late hours 
and the primrose road. 

The "Spider" has just come oflt of guard duty. There 
were a lot of stray visitors up to-day and they evidently 
came too near the fence. He showed me a fake silver cig- 
arette case half full of fags, one gold cufiE link, a stick pin 
and an exemption card. I have made him promise to send 
the exemption card home to the rightful owner. The cig- 
arettes we smoked and then gave Tim the case as a joint 
token of our great respect and devotion. We told him that 
we had sent to New York in order to get it. The poor 
dub was really quite touched about it, as, no doubt, was 
its original owner. The "Spider" told me in strict confi- 
dence that he frequently had picked up (or out) a great 
deal more at parades and six-day bicycle races. Between 
that and showing up the safe manufacturers I decided he 
must have eked out an existence. 

Dec. nth. — "Good-bye my fancy," as old Walt said, or 
was it "farewell." Anyway it doesn't matter. How can I 
speak of poets after what has happened. It is all ofE with 
Polly. I am a co-respondent — almost. It will all come out 
in the paper soon, I dare say. What will people say? 

I have drunk deep of the waters of jazz in the course of 
my turbulent career and "shimmied" my share of miles 
around the clock. Frankly I admit that I have had my full 
quota of sweeties in the past and earnestly look forward 
to more in the future. In spite of which I have struggled 
manfully to retain that purity of character for which I was 
noted at the age of three. It is lost now. Already the head- 
lines seem to be staring me in the face, crisp and clear. 



OUT O' LUCK 65 



BILTMORE OSWALD, THE WORLD'S STUPID- 
EST SAILOR, FOUND WITH THE WIFE OF 
PROMINENT BOOKMAKER 



YOUTHFUL BLUEJACKET CLAIMS NEVER HAVING KNOWN 

MODEL BEFORE 



I can see it all now. Tony takes it as a huge joke. Tim 
says I did not go far enough. Polly says I went altogether 
too far, and the unscrupulous "Spider" only regrets not 
being able to sell me one of those diamonds he gained ill 
possession of through the biting process in his dark civilian 
days. I couldn't help it and I told Polly so, but she re- 
fused to listen to reason. 

"In every port," she kept repeating almost to herself, "and 
on every comer," this more emphatically. And nothing I 
can say seems to do any good. Women will forgive any- 
thing but another woman's good looks and a man's bad 
dancing. I am very bitter about women. When Polly 
told me that I was nothing more nor less than a low- 
minded, brawling sailorman I turned on her and said : 

"A man is as bad as the occasion demands, but the woman 
creates the occasion," which I thought was a pretty good 
comeback on the spur of the moment, but instead of crush- 
ing Polly, she merely retorted that a man's whole life was 
devoted to hanging around waiting for that occasion. You 
can see just how briskly we milled it up. 

It all happened so quickly and so innocently. There I 
was standing by the road waiting bashfully for some one to 
come by in a nice comfortable automobile and pick me up 
and carry me along to New York to see my permanent 
sweetie, who doesn't seem to be quite so permanent now, 
when all of a sudden a plush looking motor draws up by 
me and a woman I scarcely looked at asks me to step in. 
What could be more natural than to comply with so gra- 



66 OUT O' LUCK 

cious a request? I asked Polly this and she said "any- 
thing.'* Of course, I didn't realize that the lady was a 
great, big, beautiful woman, naturally forward with men, 
particularly sailors, and a little dangerous. As soon as I 
saw how pretty she was I slid quickly over to the opposite 
corner which seemed to be just what she was waiting for 
me to do, because she had me where she wanted me with 
all avenues of retreat cut off. When she put her head on 
my shoulder and called me a cute little thing, what was I 
to do? I couldn't scream or call out the guard, and no 
gentleman can push a woman's head off his shoulder as if 
it were a bag of potatoes, and an5rway she was an extremely 
nice looking woman. One had to be kind to her. It was 
the only thing to do. So, in this brotherly manner I went 
rolling along toward New York trying to make this lady 
as comfortable as possible. It was "Louise and Billy" from 
the start. She was an exceptionally swift worker. Once 
in the city she swore that she just couldn't let me go. Noth- 
ing would content her but that we go to tea together and 
as I had still a couple of hours before meeting Polly I re- 
luctantly consented. Gasoline is high nowadays and I had 
shared quite a lot of this fair woman's. Going to tea with 
her was the least I could do. But I didn't plan on going 
to the exact spot where I was to meet Polly. Nevertheless 
this was just where we went — swell hotel with a twilight 
tea room. One of those places where one feels at least 
compromised after having sat in it with a woman for a 
couple of hours. My protests were of no avail. She merely 
turned her eyes on me and I felt like a brute for having 
interposed an objection. But I hadn't counted on her walk. 
This was the most surprising thing. It began at the feet 
and progressed by slow, undulating stages along her rakish 
frame until it terminated at her shoulders. My eye, what 
a walk! She did everything but loop-the-loop. Dimly I 
recalled having seen modifications of it before, but never 
in my most flapperish days had I seen anything so exag- 
gerated as this. At any moment I expected an out of town 



OUT O' LUCK 67 

buyer to rush up and say that he'd take a couple of dozen 
of model m-243. Casting a frightened looked down the 
street, I hastened after her into the portals of the hotel. 
By the time we entered the tea room I was so fascinated 
by that walk, so hypnotized, as it were, that I began, in 
spite of every effort to resist, to imitate it, following along 
in her tracks very much in the same manner as a trained 
collie dog does on the stage. Putting one foot directly be- 
fore the other, overlapping them a trifle if possible, and 
wiggling all wiggable parts, we swept under full steam 
into that fatal tea room, intriguing and intimate under 
the soft glow of its dim little blobs of light. A regular 
Emile Zola sort of a dump. As luck would have it we 
ran smack into a brace of Ensigns hopefully drinking tea 
in the shadows. The poor chaps almost lost an eye. Gladly 
would I have exchanged places with them if only to be al- 
lowed to sweat quietly in a corner and collect my sadly 
shattered morale. It is my belief that one of them delib- 
erately tripped me as I passed by, but I might be wrong. 
The room was impenetrably dark. My statuesque vamp came 
to in the middle of the room and after much uncalled for 
undulating picked out a clubby little table in a particularly 
sombre corner, wiggled herself into it and proceeded to 
hold my hand as if she was afraid of losing me, which 
she had every justification of being. I have never met a 
more unfortunately affectionate woman. Force of habit, I 
fancy, or probably just natural good will. As I sat there 
I thought bitterly to myself that I knew of exactly 16,999 
sailors that would be glad to go on report to change places 
with me and I envied each and every one of them. How- 
ever, it was a little better when she was sitting. She 
couldn't wiggle so much although she managed to toss in a 
series of snake-like evolutions from time to time. I swore 
by all my gods in Harlem that I would never walk out of 
the place in the wake of that woman. Not that I had any 
personal objections to it, but I knew that I would be a 
marked man if I did, and then there was Polly. At the 



68 OUT O' LUCK 

thought of Polly I fairly sickened. I would have drowned 
myself in the tea cup if my nose hadn't been so long. 

"Lady, all I asked for was a hitch," I said huskily. 

"I can never let you go," she whispered tragically across 
the oppressive gloom, and my God, I believed her ! 

"So kind," I muttered with lame politeness. "I don't 
deserve it." 

"We were made for each other," she thrilled back — a 
remark that struck me as being quite unreasonable and 
without any logical foundation in fact. It terrified me. In 
my desperate imagination I could see myself trailing this 
woman through life, the both of us vamping like a couple 
of licorice sticks on a hot day, with an infuriated Polly on 
every corner. 

For a long time I had been unpleasantly aware of a 
couple of gleaming eyes glaring steadily at us from across 
the waste of darkness and there seemed to be something un- 
friendly in the way they gleamed; in fact, after watching 
them furtively for some time I decided that they were de- 
cidedly hostile. 

"And to think," says my captor, sighing deeply as she 
snuggled up close to me and unlimbered her head on my 
shrinking shoulder once more. "And to think," she re- 
peated, "that I am married." 

Appalled silence. 

"But it doesn't matter," she added dream.ily, "nothing 
matters." 

"But it does matter," I almost screamed. "A great many 
things matter — I — I'm deeply engaged myself." 

"You must break it to her gently," she murmured, kissing 
my neck — a sailor's most undefended spot. 

"Break it to her gently," I began, and then my voice 
failed me — the eyes were approaching us through the dark- 
ness, they were growing larger all the time. . 

"It's Jack! My husband!" screamed the woman suddenly, 
and all the world grew still. Nothing could have been 




"*YOU MUST BREAK IT TO HER GENTLY,* SHE MURMURED, KISSING MY 

neck" — Page 68 




'aren't there any other beds save mine between here and the 
SOUTH?' " — Page 79 



OUT O' LUCK 71 

more horrible. I found myself almost falling into those 
wild, fire-touched eyes. 

*'A poor sailor defending his country. Shake hands with 
him Jack. Show your patriotism," whispered Louise with 
trembling assurance. 

Jack proceeded to show his patriotism by uttering a 
howl of fury and snatching the cloth clean off the table. 
There was a smashing of china, general commotion and 
above it all I heard Jack's voice: 

"Git outter here,'" he was shouting. "Git outter here 
this minute or I'll baste yer one." 

I looked up and saw Polly standing in the doorway. She 
was pale, but she had nothing on me. A ghost would 
have appeared tanned in comparison. There was Polly in 
real life standing in the doorway — oh, the horror of it! 

Jack was leading the woman out of the room. She ap- 
parently had forgotten that we had been made for each 
other and that she could never let me go." 

"Yes, Jack," she whispered timidly, forgetting to wiggle. 

At the door Jack turned his huge figure around and 
pointed a threatening finger at me as I cowered behind an 
orange colored lamp. 

"I'm coming back to git you," said Jack as he vanished. 
Perhaps he did. I don't know. It took me three blocks 
before I caught up with Polly and when I did she threat- 
ened to give me over to the police for flirting with her. 
Think of it! Such words from my future wife. Flirt 
with her. One might as well have flirted with a python. 
I followed her in distracted silence. Words were of no 
avail. She dismissed me bitterly. 

"Kissing your neck in a restaurant," she snapped. "Go 
out and find another sweetie to take pity on you — ^you — ^you 
bean pole." 

Bean pole were the words she used. Now, don't I have 
the damdest luck? I've lost my permanent sweetie. She 
called me a bean pole. 



72 OUT O' LUCK 

Dec. 17th. — No word from Polly. I have sunk to the 
level of my dog. I am distracted, a broken reed, a crip- 
pled bean pole. There is no health in me. I w^ill seek 
the solitudes with Fogerty and his cooties. A P. O. ap- 
proaches. I fly. Bean pole! The bitterness of it. 

Dec. 1 8th. — For once Fortune smiled on me. The v^^hole 
crowd of us standing by having been granted furloughs, 
and not one of the men refused to accept. Mother insists 
on sending me for a good rest to some swell hotel in Lake- 
wood. Later she is going to bring father, grandfather and 
Polly down with her to join me. In the meantime I ex- 
pect to wander quietly around an expensive, gold-plated 
hotel and behave myself. I don't know that I enjoy the 
prospects, but anyway it will be a change from shipboard 
and camp life. Probably I shall adventure with an adven- 
turess, or air with an heiress. Who can tell? I can't, but 
at least I can hope. 

Dec. 19th. — ^The most extraordinary thing happened to 
me today ; before breakfast at that. It's bad enough, I find, 
to have extraordinary things happen to me after luncheon 
or even later in the evening, but to start the day with a 
localized but hardly self-contained riot is almost too much 
of a vulgar display of the fate that seems to brood over my 
pure young life. 

This is one of those gold-tipped, twin-six hotels at which 
I am stopping — ^very much in the nature of a bad watch — 
in which one must spend practically one's entire life and sev- 
eral fortunes in order to be able to find one's ways around 
the halls with any small degree of success. Like many of 
those foxy little tricks in arithmetic which used to keep me 
out of God's pure sunshine in the days of my rapidly receding 
youth, the corridors of this cut glass seat of dyspepsia di- 
vide and multiply into infinity. 

Morning found me without much difficulty in bed, and, 
remembering my mother's advice to take a bath whenever 
I could get it, I sprang from my hop and proceeded, with 



OUT O' LUCK 73 

full equipment and a bathrobe, to wander down the laby- 
rinthian passages in a hazy, but hopeful frame of mind, in 
search of some receptacle in which I could immerse my 
body and thus gain that cleanliness which we are given to 
believe obtains for us a certain large amount of godliness. 
The fruits of my labors were a bewildered mind and a pair 
of weary legs. "Upstairs, downstairs, in my lady's cham- 
ber," as the sweet jingle goes, had I been, and still had 
succeeded in finding nothing remotely resembling a bath- 
room. Presently coming around a turn in the vast hall 
about two miles off I faintly made out the figure of a bell- 
boy bearing down in his jaunty bellboyish manner in my 
direction. Consequently I seated myself on a pair of stairs 
and patiently waited the ten minutes it required for this 
brave spirit to wend his way from the point at which I 
had first sighted him to my languid presence. 

"O, intrepid traveler of endless spaces," says I, giving my 
bathrobe a dramatic hitch, "save me from a life of solitary 
wandering around these trackless wastes and lead me to 
the nearest bathroom before these my whiskers impede my 
progress and my weary limbs grow feeble in decay." 

Of course no bellboy likes to be addressed in this man- 
ner before breakfast and I cannot find it in me to blame 
the bellboy, but nevertheless he came to and asked me in 
eloquent Canarsie English what was the nature of my busi- 
ness. 

"Take me, if you still love God and hate the devil, to 
the nearest bathroom by the shortest route with the mini- 
mum of delay," that's what I told him. 

"Sure," says he, with assurance, and together we set o£E 
on our pilgrimage. 

After a quarter of an hour devoted to diligent search I 
began to lose the confidence this youth had hitherto inspired 
in me. 

"It seems,** I said, "that I am a little less lonely than 
before I met you, but am still in the same unbathed con- 
dition and although I feel sure I would grow to like you 



74 OUT O' LUCK 

better the more I know you, I still believe it would be 
much pleasanter to do our walking out in the bracing fresh 
mr. This, of course, is a mere suggestion which conveys at 
the same time a strong but perfectly friendly suspicion of 
your ability to find anything in the nature of a bathroom." 

"I've only been here three months, boss," replies the bell- 
boy in answer to my mild remark, "and I haven't gotten 
quite settled down to this dump myself." 

I stopped the bellboy and shook his hand. 

"I have been unjust," I replied. "I have been guilty of 
gross injustice. No man who has not taken a course in 
navigation and dwelt in these sacred precincts for at least 
four score years and ten could ever hope to have anything 
other than the vaguest knowledge of his whereabouts. To- 
gether we are lost. Together we must find our way out. 
If worst comes to worst and we must starve, let us face our 
5ad and respective fates like men." 

Thus encouraging the young man, we proceeded to grope 
our way along the gallery until after interminable travel- 
ing we came upon a very old man sitting in the darkness on 
a trunk. Probably a victim of the halls, thought I to my- 
self. Some unfortunate person who like myself in his early 
youth set out from his bed to find a bathroom in this ac- 
cursed hotel. 

"Old man," I said, "if it needs must be that we share 
our fate with you, be so kind as to share your trunk with 
us upon which we can die together at some closely future 
date. When our parched bones are at last found it is my 
earnest hope that the finders in decency will erect a monu- 
ment to commemorate the valor, daring and fortitude of the 
three unhappy individuals who in the recklessness of their 
youth once considered it possible to take a bath in a public 
hotel — not that I know of any private ones," I added after 
due deliberation. 

"It's a bath youVe after wanting?" questioned the old 
man in a melancholy voice. 

"Almost after wanting," I replied, nodding my head hope- 
lessly. 



OUT O' LUCK 75 

"Why, it's a bathroom door you're blinking at way down 
yonder at the end of the hall," says he greatly surprised. 

For a long time I gazed at the door for which I had 
searched so courageously. 

"It's too far," I replied at last. 

"It's not at all," answered the man. 

"Then why don't you bathe there?" I asked. 

"Oh, I can't bathe there," replied the man, "I'm the 
porter." 

"Well," I said, after having considered the proposition 
in all its unappealing aspects, "if this young man will bell- 
boy me on one side and if you will porter me on the other 
perhaps together we might stagger far enough to be able 
to crawl the remaining distance." 

"Come along," said the old man, "we'll take you there," 
and the two of them began leading me down the hall. We 
had not proceeded far on our way before we met a young 
lady in riding breeches and the rest of the stuff that goes 
with it. She was a pretty young lady to whom my heart 
went out, but seeing me thus under guard she evidently 
thought that I was either very sick or else dangerously in- 
sane. As a matter of fact I looked both. 

At the door of the bathroom I shook hands with both of 
my rescuers, urging them not to forget me if they saw me 
no more and begging the old man to guide from his vast 
experience the young man to some point of safety. With 
friendly words they left me and I bathed myself much in 
the same manner as other human animals who are forced 
to confine their ablutions to so small a space as a tub. 

Arising later from this with my eyes full of soap and 
my heart full of confidence, greatly refreshed from the be- 
nign influences of lots of cold water, I collected my razor, 
toilet water, tooth brush and other well advertised and 
familiar implements of culture and once again launched my- 
self into the perilous mazes of the passageways, this time 
in the direction of my room. The return trip was surpris- 
ingly short and successful. Even with my eyes still dim 



76 OUT O' LUCK 

with soap I was able to recognize my door at once, and It 
was with a sigh of profound relief that I entered my room 
and began to arrange my shaving things tastefully upon my 
dresser, humming the while a bit of a cheerful song. 

"Oh Gawd," I heard someone breathe back of me. 

Ah, thought I, the maid. I failed to notice her because 
of the soap, no doubt. 

"It's all right," I answered without troubling to turn 
around, "you may return at some later time. I shall soon 
be dressed." 

"What ?" went on this voice, this time taking on a quality 
of horror. "What — ^what — ^what — " 

Even then I failed to turn around. My attention was 
arrested by a silver-backed mirror which I was weighing 
absent-mindedly in my hand. In doing this I became 
vaguely aware of the fact that I had never in the entire 
course of my misspent daj^ possessed such a thing as a sil- 
ver-backed mirror. Still I failed to connect this fact in 
any way with the voice behind me. All men after bathing 
as a rule are cheerfully preoccupied with petty details and 
I was no exception. At that moment all I cared much 
about doing was to put on one sock and to continue to hum 
my little song. However, the unexpected presence of the 
mirror was a fact to be considered. I raised the mirror 
and gazed into it. In doing this I was enabled to catch 
over my shoulder the reflection of my bed and also the 
reflection of someone in my bed. This someone was a 
woman. This was apparent. It had long hair and the 
nose, which was all that I could see, had cold cream on it, 
an unmistakable sign. 

My preoccupation left me immediately. I became un- 
nerved. Panic took possessic«i of me. I turned around as 
if on a spring. 

"Where did you come from?" I gasped. 

"From the South," said a startled voice from the bed. 

For a moment I pondered over the answer. I had appar- 
ently surprised the truth out of her. 



OUT O' LUCK 77 

"Well, I wish you had stayed there," I replied bitterly. 
"Aren't there any other beds save mine between here and 
the South?" 

"This is my bed," came the voice defiantly from beneath 
the blankets, "and if you don't leave this room instantly I 
shall begin to scream." 

I looked around the room. She was apparently right. 
It did not appear to be my room. Whether it was her room 
or not I wasn't certain. I wasn't interested. I was con- 
vinced it wasn't my room. That was enough. With 
nerveless fingers I began gathering up the toilet articles I 
had so tastefully arranged on the dresser. 

"A terrible mistake," I muttered thickly. "You must 
permit me to apologize. I must apologize. I shall never 
be through apologizing." 

"If you're not through apologizing and out of this room 
in ten seconds I shall begin to scream," said the bed. 

"I hurry, I flee, I depart," I whispered reaching for the 
door knob. 

"Stop!" commanded the bed tragically. 

"What is it?" I replied with an equal amount of trag- 
edy in my voice. 

"If you open that door one inch I shall scream," contin- 
ued the bed. 

"Your scream seems to go both ways," I remarked over 
my shoulder. 

"Open the door and I scream," came the voice. 

"But, madam," I expostulated, "I'm not Houdini. I 
can't under the force of the most pressing circumstances 
possibly worm myself through the keyhole." 

This time the voice spoke more clearly, more rapidly; 
there was fear in it — positive terror. 

"My husband," it said, "will be here at any moment. 
He always comes up for a moment after breakfast. He 
is probably walking down the hall at this instant. He will 
not believe me and he will kill you. You must get under 



78 OUT O' LUCK 

the bed. Quick, quick, under the bed! For God's sake, 
under the bed ! There will be a tragedy." 

"It will be more than a tragedy," I managed to gasp. 
*'It will be a total loss." 

"The bed, the bed, under it!" she urged. 

"Does he, too, come from the South?" I asked, 

"Yes," she answered, "from the South." 

"Probably believes in the 'unwritten law,* " I muttered, 
beginning in the anguish of my soul to prance around the 
room. 

"I hear his step!" she cried. "Avoid a murder and get 
under that bed." 

My presence of mind left me. I had seen too many Key- 
stone comedies, however, to permit myself to get under the 
bed. 

"Cleanliness is not next to godliness," I remember think- 
ing at that terrible moment, "it is next to madness." 

An idea seized me. I remembered a friend of mine who 
in a similar position had escaped detection by sitting on the 
ledge of the window sill. 

"Pull the shade down after me!" I cried, opening the 
window and climbing through. 

The shade and the window came down with a snap, I 
heard a door open, a heavy tread in the room behind me, 
and I found myself sitting in God's bright sunlight gazing 
down on the main thoroughfare of the town and one of 
the most popular of the hotel's many sun porches. 

Already I was attracting attention. Several embattled 
dowagers were gazing up at me. They had not yet come 
to the believing stage. With bejeweled hands they rubbed 
their eyes. It was horrible. One of my slippers fell heav- 
ily through the New York Times held above the nose of a 
fat old man of unmistakably conservative leanings. He 
spluttered and glared up at me. I did my best even at that 
moment to smile a polite smile of apology down upon the 
old gentleman. Several people had stopped on the street 
and were pointing up at me. An automobile party came 




'I REALIZED THAT MY POSITION WAS NOT AN ENVIABLE ONE" — Page 8 1 




p'' III 



CERTAINLY, I REPLIED, CERTAINLY, LITTLE BELL BOY, AND PERHAPS 
YOU MIGHT LIKE THE FUNNY TROUSERS ALSO?' " — Page 8/ 



OUT O' LUCK 81 

to a dead stop and traffic began to pile up behind it. Sev- 
eral people ran out on the porch with their morning pa- 
pers grasped in their hands, and through the bright, sweet 
air of this day rode In upon this scene the girl I had en- 
countered in the hall. She stopped in the driveway and 
looked up. Her eyes met mine and she smiled. For a mo- 
ment all was forgotten, even Polly. I smiled back in my 
imbecile way. The voices in the room behind me were 
growing louder and more excited. 

I cannot go on. I am far too unnerved to write Into 
my diary the subsequent events which took place on this 
ghastly day. It is too horrible to dwell on. I must have rest. 
I shall take it. 

(Later). — I realized that my position was not an en- 
viable one. To sit in one's pajamas on the extreme edge 
of a window sill, particularly if the window happens to be 
closed behind one, is not a position likely to arouse the envy 
of the average beholder. Some bird might enjoy it, but 
very few men. When I say I was not happy on my lofty 
pinnacle I am saying it merely because I have no adequate 
way of expressing how extremely unhappy I was. At any 
moment I feared I would follow my slipper down upon the 
billowy paunch of the convalescent stand-patter below me. 
If I did I felt sure that I would rebound into eternity, 
probably ending my wretched days on the chilly obscurity 
of some isolated star. I do not know whether it was be- 
cause of my unusual appearance before the general public 
of that quiet town or because of the hour that the High 
School suddenly disgorged its brood. The result was the 
same. Several hundred youths piled out into the street be- 
low me and proceeded to hoot and jeer at me with all the 
detached cruelty of a savage race. The old gentleman was 
shaking his fist at me. Rage rendered him inarticulate, 
and I remember thinking at the time that it would be a 
blessing to humanity if it could be arranged always to keep 
him angry. The girl on the horse was still regarding me 
with amused eyes. Presently the horse itself raised its head 



82 OUT O' LUCK 

and gazed up at me. I seemed to detect an expression of 
annoyance in his patient countenance. This is not right, 
he was evidently thinking to himself. If men take to con- 
ducting themselves in this strange manner what is a horse 
to expect? If this practice grows popular it will be ex- 
tremely difficult for a horse to distinguish men from wild 
birds. 

I felt sorry for the horse. In spite of the insecurity of 
my position I took a chance and waved down to the old 
gentleman. This gesture of good will succeeded in in- 
creasing his rage to the bursting point. I followed my 
friendly wave with an ingratiating smile. The good man 
choked and hurried off to the bar. The orchestra, finding 
itself bereft of an audience, had abandoned its music and 
followed the entire personnel of the establishment to the 
porch. One man, as if fearing I was not already sufficiently 
conspicuous, pointed to me with the long bow of his fiddle. 
From all sides came the excited twittering of women, the 
disturbed voices of men and the delighted cries of boys. 
Behind me, in the room, the angry exclamations of the 
husband mingled themselves with the pleading tones of 
the wife. Suddenly the window went up with a bang and 
with great speed I disappeared before the astounding eyes 
of the assembled throng as a powerful arm seized me around 
my middle and deposited me without further ceremony upon 
the floor. In a position such as I found myself it was well- 
nigh impossible to draw upon one's dignity. This man 
was saying unpleasant things to me and about me. I 
hardly understood what they were. The events of the morn- 
ing had so beclouded my faculties that a numbing lassitude 
had overcome my brain. A man can stand only so much 
desperation, after which he finds his spirit plunged into a 
profound indifference. It was because of this strange mental 
condition that I found myself tracing the pattern in the 
rug with absorbed interest while this wild man fumed and 
raged above my bowed head and called upon every god 
south of the Mason-Dixon line to bear him witness that he 



OUT O' LUCK 83 

intended to have my blood. His wife seemed to be so dis- 
tracted that she was unable to decide whether to get under 
the bed or in it. For some minutes a cold object had been 
annoying my shrinking flesh. I had been brushing this ob- 
ject away petulantly objecting to the interruption in my 
intriguing pursuit of tracing the rug*s intricate diagrams. 
Presently I looked up in annoyance, and discovered that 
the object I had so carelessly been brushing aside was 
nothing less than a well-developed 48 Colt revolver. This 
discovery in no way served to bring back my good spirits; 
neither did it make the room any more comfortable. I im- 
mediately lost all interest in the rug. A revolver has a 
way of holding the eye. This one held mine. In fact, it 
claimed my entire attention. 

"What do you mean by coming into my wife's room?" 
grated the man. 

"I only wanted to take a bath,** I answered in a dull 
voice, addressing myself directly to the gun. 

"What?'* he howled. "You wanted to take a bath in my 
wife's room?'* 

"Not particularly in your wife's room,** I replied, "but 
in any room. Just a bath, that was all I wanted.*' 

"Liar!'* shouted the man. "Home breaker.'* 

"Sir,** I said, and this time with feeling, "I have never 
been in a less homelike place.'* 

"How long has this been going on?" he demanded, mak- 
ing little, cold rings on my neck with the gun. 

"For years and years,'* I muttered in a low voice. 

"O, no, oh, no,** came the agonized voice of the wife who 
had at length decided to get behind the trunk. "My God ; 
don't say that !'* 

"Ha!'* cried the husband, in triumph. "He admits it. He 
confesses. I am dishonored." 

"Is that the only gun you have?" I asked suddenly. 

"No,** he said, "there is still another.'* 

"Then why do you all the time keep showing it to me?** 
I continued. "I believe you." 



84 OUT O' LUCK 

"You are in love with my wife," said the man, as if 
reading the lines from a book, "and one of us must die." 

"Sir," I replied, completely forgetting my chivalry, "not 
only am I not in love with your wife, but I don't even fancy 
her." 

"Shoot him, James," came an indignant voice from the 
trunk. "He's insulting me." 

"That sounds love-like, doesn't it?" said I, bitterly, to 
James. 

"Lies! Lies! Lies!" cried James. "You love her." 

"I don't." 

"You do." 

"Don't." 

"This is ridiculous,** 

"It is." 

"It must be settled." 

He hurried over to the bureau and returned with an- 
other gun. 

"This is the way we shall settle it," he said, displaying 
the gun in all its splendor. "A duel." 

"You mean shooting at each other?" I gasped. 

"To the end," he replied. 

"I won't do it," I replied with finality. 

"Then I'll shoot you down like a dog in cold blood," 
he answered. 

"Don't talk that way," I cried, "about blood and shoot- 
ing down and all that. I don't like it." 

He cocked one of the guns. 

"Do you agree?" he said. 

It seemed to me that the end of the gun was already 
smoking. 

"How about a game of ping-pong?" I suggested des- 
perately. "They have a dandy table here." 

"Have you any friends in the hotel?" he asked, stepping 
back and leveling the gun. The trunk seemed to be having 
a convulsion. 



OUT O' LUCK 85 

"Don't do it!" I cried. "Don't do it. I don't want to 
be shot!" 

"Then do you agree to a duel?" he said, lowering the 
gun. 

"Sure," said I, greatly relieved, "let's have a flock of 
them." 

"Very well, then," he said, "we shall arrange it now. 
You have no friends. Neither have I. We must use two 
of the bellboys as seconds. I shall talk with them and ar- 
range everything. To-morrow at daybreak you shall be 
called. Good day, suh." 

At the door I stopped. 

"Say," said I entreatingly, "won't you cut out all this 
Kentucky Colonel stuff and be reasonable?" 

"It is arranged," said he, closing the door. 

Half way down the liall I turned back, remembering I 
had left my shaving things. 

"What!" he cried, when I had knocked and the door 
was opened to me. "Back again? Have you no shame? 
Shall I shoot you now?" 

"No, don't shoot me now," I said, in a tired voice, "shoot 
me to-morrow. Just reach me out my shaving things now so 
that I can be all pretty." 

Somehow I got back to my room. Every door along 
the long halls presented itself to me as a possible duel. I 
stood outside my own room for fully fifteen minutes nerv- 
ing myself to take the chance. At last I closed my eyes 
and entered. I was safe. All the day I stayed in my room. 
A bellboy brought me my meals, my slipper and a request 
from the management please not to sit on the window sill 
any more. Evidently they think that I was doing it through 
preference. And to-morrow I die. Well, thank God, at 
any rate I had my bath. There is probably some comfort 
in this but I have not as yet been able to find it. 

Dec. 2ist (After the duel). — I don't at all object to 
duels ; in fact, I rather fancy them — when they are all over. 
Here I sit, a man who has both shot and been shot at; a 



86 OUT O' LUCK 

man who has stood gallantly on the field of honor In order 
to defend his sacred rights to take a bath; a man who has 
proved his courage and magnanimity in a moment of great 
danger, and yet here I am, healthy and unscratched and 
sharing a dark secret with the man who only this morning 
was thirsting for my blood. 

For the sake of posterity, personal or otherwise, I shall 
proceed to relate a few of the high lights of this singular 
affair. 

At five o'clock a bellboy presented himself before me 
and said in a solemn voice: 

"It is time, sir." 

**Time for what?" says I. 

"For the dool, sir," says he. "Will you have a bath, sir ?" 

"Little bellboy," says I, turning over on my side, "if you 
love Charlie Chaplin and ever hope to sit in the bleachers 
at a world series again, don't, don't for the love of all you 
hold sacred in your bellboy's soul mention bath to me. I 
have taken my last bath in this world. To that spot 
whither I am about to wend my way it is my hope that 
there will be no spirit tubs in which the shades that dwell 
in that place will be forced to immerse their spirit bodies. 
However, convention is strong and I can only with the 
greatest difficulty imagine a British ghost having anything 
like a contented time of it if he should happen to be de- 
prived of his morning tub." 

During the course of this speech, which left the bellboy 
in a perplexed frame of mind, I had taken the occasion to 
arise and prepare myself for my undertaker. 

"It's going to be in the Cathedral Pines," whispered the 
boy gleefully to me as we picked our way through the 
woods a few minutes later. 

"Is it?" I said unenthusiastically, falling into a hidden 
brook. "It is a name that conveys a certain morbid sig- 
nificance to my mind at this moment." 

"Aw, he might not actually kill you," put in the boy 
cheerfully. 



OUT O' LUCK 87 

"Little boy," says I, **don't you think you m^^ht make 
a man's last moments on earth a trifle less ghastly if you 
should choose to discuss topics more remote to the business 
at hand?" 

Of course I received no answer to this. 

*'But if he does," continued this budding young mate- 
rialist, "might I have that navy jumper you're wearmg? 
My girl has been after me to get her one." 

"Certainly," I replied, "certainly, little bellboy, and per- 
haps you might like the funny trousers, also?" 

"Sure," said he, "sure I would. You're all right, mister." 

"Thank you, little bellboy, for those kind words, the first 
I've heard for many days. But perhaps you will refrain 
from undressing me until after the funeral services? I 
should hate to make my deparature in my underwear." 

"Certainly," said the bellboy, "I'll get 'em after it's all 
over." 

"This, then, must indeed be a pleasant day for you?'* 
I suggested as we crawled up a bank made unnecessarily 
slippery by pine needles. 

"Aw, I ain't never seen a dool before," said the bell- 
boy. "It will be different." 

"The eternal quest of youth," said I to myself, and aloud, 
"Yes, won't it? Quite. The difference between ham and 
eggs and easing the way for daisies." 

By this time we had reached the spot from which I was 
to take my sudden departure from the land of the Blue 
Jacket's Manual. My foeman was prancing briskly around 
in the early morning sunlight. Apparently a duel to him 
was the same as a Bronx cocktail had at one time been to 
me, something to toss off with a smile of anticipation of 
more to come. A cow was thrusting her head through some 
nearby trees. I felt like kissing her farewell. She fol- 
lowed our movements with dreamy imaginings. In my 
mind, which always becomes dazed in the presence of dan- 
ger and tailor bills, I wondered if she had been out in the 
woods all night. The songs of the birds hurt me. I was 



88 OUT O' LUCK 

too soon to lose them. Even the smell of the pine-touched 
morning air annoyed me. I liked it too much. 

"Good morning," I said to my adversary, hoping to make 
friends with him at that late date. "Have you had your 
breakfast?" 

"No, suh," he replied, haughtily, "I shall get that latuh." 

"Let's go back and get it novvr," I suggested. 

"You will not be hungry long," he answered, busying 
himself with the guns. When I had last seen those guns 
they had been large. Now they looked tremendous. A 
new bellboy approached and handed me one. Then fol- 
lowed a joint conversation between the bellboys, who were 
playing the enviable role of seconds, and the principals. 
One bellboy wanted to start (or better, end) the thing by 
saying: "One for the money, two for the show, three to 
get ready and four to go." 

I objected to this on the grounds of childhood memories 
the ritual evoked and also because I disliked the word "go" 
as being a little too pertinent to the situation. 

At last we made him memorize the simple imperatives, 
"Ready! Aim! Fire!" These also jarred on my nerves, 
but I felt that I could stand them. It was also decided that 
each man should have one and only one shot. This was 
also my suggestion. My adversary accepted merely because 
as he declared, "I never need more than one, suh." 

I replied to this by saying that that was one more than I 
needed. 

We took our positions at forty-five paces apart. I had been 
forced to fight desperately for the extra five paces. The 
seconds took up their positions and I stood regarding my 
sponsor in spirit land. He was not a bad looking chap. 
For the first time the realization that by some off chance I 
might be responsible for letting daylight into his anatomy 
occurred to me. It was most unpleasant. However, he 
looked so fearless and assured that I felt how little I had 
to worry about on that score. 

"All right," he snapped out to the bell-boy. 



OUT O' LUCK 89 

"Get ready," said the bellboy. 

"Wait," I shouted. "Wait!" 

"What's the matter?" demanded the man. 

"I can't lift my arm," I cried. 

"What?'* said the man. 

"I can't lift my arm," I repeated. "I can't do it. We'll 
have to shoot lying down." 

"If you don't raise your arm, right now I'll shoot you 
down on the spot," gritted the man. 

I raised my arm. 

"Get ready !'* started the boy once more. 

1 lowered my gun. 

"Bellboy," I said, "you're not saying it right. You 
musn't say *Get ready;* you must say merely *Ready.* Am 
I not right, sir ?" I continued, addressing my foe. 

"Yes," he said, shortly. 

*Why say it at all?" I suggested, hoping he might be 
reasonable. 

"He must say it,** breathed the man. 

"See," I said turning to the bellboy. "What did I tell 
you? You've gotta say it, only say it right.'* 

"Get ready!" cried the bellboy. 

I lowered my gun once more. 

"That bellboy is simply impossible," I said. "I've never 
had such service in my life. If this keeps up I'm going to 
call the whole blamed duel ofE." 

The man was furious. I thought he was going to slay 
me without further conversation on the subject. 

"Bellboy," he cried, at last getting control of himself. 
"For Gawd sake, say it right!" 

Once more we braced ourselves. 

"Get ready!" stammered the bewildered boy, losing all 
presence of mind at this great moment. 

"What did I tell you?" I said disgustedly. "What did I 
tell you? He can't say it. He's spoiled the duel for me. 
Absolutely ruined it." 



90 OUT O' LUCK 

"You say it," cried the man to the other bellboy; "and 
if you don't say it right I'll shoot you down." 

"Ready!" said the other bellboy proudly. "Aim!" 

"Half a moment," I interrupted politely. 

"Well, what is it now?" demanded the man. 

"Not until after the funeral," I said to the bellboy. "Re- 
member!'* 

"Sure, sir," he replied, and in the next breath, "Ready!" 

We raised our guns. 

"Aim!" he shouted. 

"Promise?" I cried. 

"Sure," said he. 

"I'll run you a race?" I called out in desperation to my 
foe, but there was no stopping the murderous progress of 
that boy's words. 

"Fire!" he called out in a relieved voice. 

There was one sharp report. A bullet hurried by my left 
€ar. Both bellboys were disappearing at great speed through 
the trees. I turned around and noticed that the cow was 
sinking slowly to the ground, bow first. 

"Fair mark, shoot," said my foe, baring his chest to me. 

"Look what you done," I replied, in my excitement for- 
getting to shoot him. "Look what you done," I continued. 
"You've gone and killed that cow." 

"Shoot!" cried the man. 

Forgetting completely about him I hurried over and 
gazed down into the large, suffering eyes of the innocent 
bystander. She was in great pain and dying slowly, as I 
might have been had the bullet found its mark. Poor cow. 
I could not stand to hear it breathing. Suddenly I thought 
of the gun hanging forgotten in my hand. With this gun 
I hastened the departing life of the animal. It was my only 
shot and it did the work. 

"Now," I said briefly, turning to the man. **We'd both 
better run like hell." 

Together we fled through the woods after the intrepid 
bellboys. 




"^V*. "^^^ 







" * BELL BOY, you're NOT SAYING IT RIGHT* ** — Page Bq 



'"' 'aniA^^(f' 







'mr. fogerty is a papa, he has seven babies, all i>0G8 " — Page 96 



OUT O' LUCK 93 

"Aren't you going to shoot me?" gasped my unsuccessful 
enemy. 

"No," I managed to get out as we dashed along. "I've 
spent my bullet on something more deserving." 

"But you ought to shoot me," replied the man with con- 
viction. 

"Just the same," I answered, "I ain't agoing to do it." 

We ran steadily and swiftly for a great time. At last 
we halted by a sort of subconscious mutual consent. 

"What do you reckon the farmer would do to us if he 
caught us?" panted the man. 

"He'd arrest us and make us pay and at the present high 
cost of living I guess we'd never stop paying," I replied 
with conviction. 

"I didn't mean to kill the cow," said the man musing 
over my words. 

"Thanks for the compliment," I replied shortly. 

He looked at me and smiled. How I had prayed to see 
that smile on his face during the past 24 hours. Now it no 
longer mattered. 

"You're a funny person," he said to me at last. "I've 
never met any one like you before." 

"You almost lost the opportunity," I reminded him. 

"Funny," he continued. "Rather help a dying cow than 
kill your man." 

"The cow was easier to hit," I replied. "And she needed 
a lift." 

He swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. 

"I reckon," he said. "I reckon I was wrong about it all 
and I want to ap — " 

"Have you had breakfast?" I interrupted. 

"No," he replied. 

"Well, come on, let's have it," said I. And together we 
set off through the woods. 

Dec. 22nd. — The pine woods down here are gradually 
getting to my head. After the affair of the duel, I imme- 



94 OUT O' LUCK 

diately sought the comfort and the solitude of the trees in 
order to allow my ruined nerves an opportunity to spring 
back to normal. While sitting in the sun-splashed tran- 
quillity of a dense undergrowth, numerous poetic thoughts 
flashed through my mind. So as my frequently-referred-to- 
posterity may have the benefit of these great thoughts I 
have entered them, for the sake of permanency, into this, 
my diary. The first poem is entitled: 

The Enigma. 

Whither does the plumber wend? 
He hath a water pipe to mend. 
Yet, whyfore doth the plumber sit 
And never seem to think of itf 

Admittedly this is an outpouring of the soul which would 
be very difficult to connect with a pine forest, yet it is in 
such a spot that fancy took me unawares. The second poem 
is more reasonable, but no less beautiful. It is called : 

To A Bird. 

/ never heard 

A more absurd 
Arrangement than a mocking bird. 
Why Does he always scream and shout itf 
Something should be done about it. 

This last poem, of course, has more depth and philosophy 
than the first one, and also possesses the great virtue of 
being constructive. And one must be constructive, mustn't 
one? — if only for the sake of being, as it were, constructive. 

The third poem has an element of tragedy and bitterness 
of life. One can see at a glance that it came from a man' 
who has suffered pitifully in this world. I read it to a bell- 
boy the other night and the poor, emotional slob could hardly 
restrain his feelings. No one knows better than I what it 



OUT O' LUCK 95 

means to feel deeply, particularly over my own poetry, and 
so, of course, I readily sympathized with him. As a matter 
of fact, there is something in it that gets you. I call it simply: 

Hope. 

Amelia Jane at twelve- fifteen 
Arose and sought her limousine. 
And fell upon her fickle head—-' 
I hope to God Amelia^s dead. 

This, too, is an expression of profound knowledge and 
intercourse with life as it is and not as we would wish it. 

Unfortunately for the enrichment of literature, the con- 
ception of further gems of poesy was rudely interrupted by 
a loud and sudden bang somewhere very close to my wood- 
land nook, and all the shot propelled by all the powder be- 
longing to all the Du Fonts in Delaware came tearing along 
in my direction. Quantities of dead leaves were ripped o£E 
the trees around me and numerous birds flew away uttering 
loud cries of protest in which I joined with fervor. 

Presently there was one who appeared to me through 
the bushes. He was wearing a strange arrangement of 
hunting tweeds and was maintaining with no little difficulty 
and facial contortions a monocle in his starboard lamp. 

"Oh, I say," says he, "you carnt sit here, old chap. This 
is a game preserve, ye know." 

In as calm a voice as possible I assured him that I had 
lost all desire to remain longer in that vicinity. 

"Hang it all," he continued, breaking out into a loud 
and unusual sounding laugh, "I bally nearly plugged you, 
ye know." Merriment overcame him. 

"Yes," says I, inanely, "yes, indeed. Didn't you just. 
Bally nearly plugged me. Funny, what? Ha! Ha!" 

He wiped his eyes on a silk handkerchief and began search- 
ing around in the bushes. 

"I say, old dog," says he, waxing intimate on the ground 



96 OUT O' LUCK 

of nearly having killed me, "you didn't see any birds drop 
around here, did you?" 

"May I ask you a question in return ?'* I asked him in 
my politest voice. 

"Surely, old—" 

"Make it hound this time," I suggested. 

He blinked at me a moment v^hile digesting the sugges- 
tion. At last he smiled his silly smile. 

"Surely, old hound," says he, "surely. What's your 
question ?" 

"Why don't you go back to England ?" said I, shortly, as 
I disappeared into the bushes. 

"Harf a minute," I heard him crying after me, "Harf a 
minute," but I did not wait for further words with him. 
I have been too frequently shot at in the past few days. 

Dec. 23rd. — I received this morning the following cryp- 
tic telegram: 

"Mr. Fogerty is a father again seven times. Signed, 

"Spider." 

To this startling communication I sent immediately the 
following reply: 

"Congratulate Mr. Fogerty for me. Take all necessary 
steps to see that Mrs. Fogerty is well provided for at 
my expense. Signed, Biltmore." 

Although I was in no wise obligated to that depraved 
dog, I could not permit myself to see his family suffer, 
which they certainly would if he had anything to do with 
it. Later in the evening I received this letter from my wop 
shipmate Tony: 

"Dear Bilta: That dog you call Meester Fogerty ess 
a papa. He has seven babies, all dogs. All the day he 
act strange. He walks unhappily up and down before the 



OUT O' LUCK 97 

barracks S-ii. He no eat. He no sleep. He no go away. 
He justa walk, walk, walk, all the day. I bring heem 
food. He looks at it. Too sad. Kicks it over. At about 
seven bells a sailor comes outta the barracks and calls to 
Meester Fogerty. They enter. I follow. Fogerty is led 
up to the heat pipes were lays a mama dog with seven babies. 
Meester Fogerty looks at them. He looks at me. He is 
proud. He has much pride and growls deep in hees throat 
and bites Murphy the jimmy-legs. Then he stalk outta 
the room and is seen no more. He is heard of later in the 
near-by village. He has placed himself at the head of a 
large body of dogs. They bully around the town and will 
not come home. Meester Fogerty he celebrates. Your dog 
is not nice. Tony." 

Thus wrote the poor Italian, describing as well as pos- 
sible an episode that is becoming only too frequent in Mr. 
Fogerty's life. If the government should send allotments 
to all of Mr. Fogerty's families, a special department would 
have to be created in order to carry on the business. How- 
ever, I cannot help but be pleased at Mr. Fogerty having 
been a father so near home. I am afraid he will be insuffer- 
able for many days. 

Dec. 24th. — In this hotel it is very difficult to distinguish 
the difference between a sun porch and a parlor. They 
sort of run into one another. But there is a difference. 
In the sun porch one is supposed to look convalescent, 
whereas in the parlor or lounges one is supposed to look 
dyspeptic. I have found this out, for in the latter place 
numerous large, brocaded dowagers foregather after meals 
and battle valiantly with this dread enemy of mankind. 
That they suffer greatly is apparent from the bitter way 
in which they regard all those whose cheerful faces show 
they are not its victims. They would love to use tooth- 
picks, I know, but they are paying so much for their rooms 
that they can't bear to lower their batting average. 



98 OUT O' LUCK 

I walked around the lake this morning and fell in it. 
It's a nice lake to walk around, but not a nice one to fall 
into. One disturbs too many sleeping turtles recumbent 
on the rocks. 

Most all of the visitors at this place come to the lake to 
talk business. I have been able to pick up no end of in- 
formation regarding stocks and bonds, cloaks and suits and 
buttons and buttonholes. This is well. The good gentle- 
men show such a rugged Indifference to the beauties of na- 
ture. This, I suppose, Is progress. Soon we shall have 
stock tickers established at proper Intervals along our most 
picturesque walks and rustic settings in order to allow any 
business man who might chance by an opportunity to pur- 
chase the fruits of the earth at which he refuses to look. 
Yet people tell us that we all want something more In life 
than this. We do. We want something more than seventy- 
five cents, which is more than I have in my pocket. And 
when we get it we find that it has gotten us. Making 
money Is, on occasions, perhaps, excusable, but talking about 
it is at all times criminal. Hence no more of this trite philos- 
ophy. The reason I'm so cracked on the subject of money 
is that I have so little of it. In fact, I gave my last quarter 
to the porter who struggled in with my suitcase upon ar- 
riving. Since then I've been trying to get a little vicari- 
ous enjoyment by watching the bell-hops steal a drag be- 
hind the water cooler. I've been without fags for so long 
that the nicotine is wearing off my fingers. Yesterday I 
borrowed a smoke from one of these said boys on the pre- 
text of having left my cigarette case in my room. I nursed 
the butt till midnight. It looks as if mother has done 
me in. She's equally as bad as numerous paymasters I have 
met who have been attacked by the yellow-slip fever. 

Dec. 25th. — ^To-day, while walking, I came upon a kit- 
ten leaping alone in the road miles from habitation. I 
approached the small creature and considered it in all its 
touseled aspects. It was not the offspring of a wild cat. 



OUT O' LUCK 99 

This was apparent. Consequently I kne^v that it would 
eventually perish in the woods. So I took this cat in my 
arms and proceeded in search of a refuge for it. After 
traversing a great distance I came to the home of a farmer, 
and, going up to the farmer, I addressed him in a polite 
voice. 

"Farmer," I said, "I have here with me a homeless cat. 
Will you take it in?" 

And the farmer said, "We already have some cats." 

So I left the farmer, and after traversing a great distance, 
I came upon the house of another farmer, and, going up to 
the hired girl of the farmer's wife, I said: 

"Hired girl of the farmer's wife, I have here with me a 
homeless cat. Will you take it in ?" 

And the maiden replied, "We have some cats." 

So I left that place and continued many leagues on my 
way until I came to the dwelling of a third farmer, where 
in the yard was a maiden throwing water over the body of 
a dog possessed of fleas, and, going up to the maiden, I said : 

"Maiden throwing water over the body of a dog possessed 
of fleas, I have here with me a homeless cat. Will you 
take it in?" 

And the maid replied, "Sire, we have some cats." 

So I quitted the spot and continued on my way a great 
distance until I came to the gates of a rich dealer in stocks, 
whereat there was a woman either blowing or washing the 
nose of a large brass lion, and, approaching the woman, I 
said: 

"Woman ministering to the needs of a large brass lion, I 
have here with me a homeless cat. Will you take it in?" 

And the woman answered, "We have some cats." 

And I spoke again and said, "Woman cleansing the body 
of a lion wrought in brass, do cats only grow in the plural 
in this place?" 

And the woman answered, "It seems so." 

So I departed from that place and walked a long time 
on my way until I came to a great hospital, wherein there 



loo OUT O' LUCK 

dwelt a host of wounded soldiers from over the water, and 
here there was a Red Cross nurse, and to this nurse I went 
up and said: 

"Red Cross nurse, I have here with me a homeless cat. 
Will you take it in ?'* 

And the Red Cross nurse smiled and took the cat and I 
departed. 

When it was later in the day I passed this great hospital 
for wounded soldiers and I saw a soldier with one leg and 
with this soldier was a small cat with which the soldier 
seemed greatly pleased. 

So I rejoiced in my heart that there was a place in the 
scheme of things for a small cat, and left the spot highly 
edified and feeling not a little boy-scoutish. 

I have just learned that today is Christmas. This is a 
nice thing to know, although I hardly see what use I am 
going to make of the information. I might sing a couple 
of carols to my waitress with a certain degree of safety in- 
asmuch as the good woman is evidently deaf. 

Dec. 26th. — ^At last I have met her, the girl in the rid- 
ing breeches, the girl who observed me in all my glory 
sitting on the edge of a window sill. But this time she w^as 
not clad in riding breeches, but in full-dress, full of va- 
cancies, that is, in which she looked equally attractive. It 
came about in this manner. Her father fell asleep. That 
explains it. He fell asleep before the fire in the main lobby 
directly after having strained the strength of his pearl 
shirt studs by the amount of food he had somehow man- 
aged to cram under them. The orchestra, at some distance, 
was playing a particularly jazzy shiver and this naturally 
brought my attention to the gleaming young lady sitting 
beside the snoring old man. 

As I was looking at her I noticed a strange thing. The 
left shoulder of the young lady gave a slight but ever so 
eloquent hitch. This intriguing movement was then re- 
peated by the right shoulder, bare and polished beneath 



f>OP.6ANo 



^ J > 



■"v^ 




^^^/y^^^ ^^'^ 



///^v/ 



'maiden, I HAVE HERE WITH ME A HOMELESS CAT* " — Fage QQ 




'the left shoulder of the young lady gave a slight, but ever so 

ELOQUENT HITCH " — Page lOO 



OUT O' LUCK 103 

the bright glow of the lights. With much less grace, but 
with equally as much expression, I proceeded to do a little 
hitching of my own shoulders. Thus, in all solemnity, we 
sat hitching at one another until at last I nodded my head 
in the direction of the ball room. Still without smiling, the 
young lady arose and departed quietly to the place where 
the music was, and I followed her. Silently she took my 
arm and with profound gravity we embarked upon a sea 
of jazz, from which we presently emerged still in a condi- 
tion of mute but mutual enjoyment. 

Without a word I led her to a secluded, palm-clustered re- 
cess in one of the numerous sun parlors, where together we 
sat in silence and gazed upon the gaudy visage of a moth- 
eaten moon. She dropped her fan. I picked it up. 

"Thank you," say she. 

"Don't mention it," says I. 

She dropped her handkerchief, and this, too, I retrieved. 

"Oh, thank you very much," says she. 

"You're cordially welcome, I'm sure," says I. 

Then she laughed. She laughed like a Bacardi cocktail 
tastes. Pleasantly. Something one cannot get enough of. 
One never does until one gets too much. When she had 
finished, we spoke. We spoke plenty. We told each other 
our right names, where we lived, the books we liked, the 
plays we had seen, what we thought of the hotel, the people, 
the scenery and the food. We spoke of the summer time and 
declared we like it best, although she held out for skating. 
We spoke of other hotels and other places and other people. 
In fact, we spoke very much in the same manner as all 
young people speak and always have spoken from the time 
that the first couple met in the first hotel. Then we be- 
came silent, which was dangerous, so she took me to her 
father, to whom I was properly introduced, as if that made 
any difference. To my pleasant salutation he replied grum- 
pily: 

"Knew it all the time. Knew it all the time. Wasn't 
asleep. Go away." 



104 OUT O' LUCK 

And we went. The upshot of it all is that I must rise 
at an early hour tomorrow morning and go riding with this 
fair party. I didn't lie much about it. All I said was 
that I could ride. I can't, but I might have gone so far as 
to say that I had been brought up in the saddle. I regard 
the morrow with suspicion and skepticism. I have never 
been on a horse, have stayed as far away from them as 
possible, and now I am actually going to mount one. Great 
guns, were women put into the world only to make fools 
of men? 

Dec. 27th. — I looked upon the horse as a murderer 
might look upon his jury. He gazed back at me and 
frowned. From that minute we were mortal enemies. I 
have never seen such marked hostility in any creature's eyes. 

"Good morning," says my fair and slim young friend, 
buttoning her gloves as she approached me. "A fine day 
for a ride." 

"Don't you think it's going to rain?" I asked, wistfully. 

"Oh, no," says she. "It will clear up presently." 

She took a step toward her horse, but I stopped her. 

"Say, don't you think my horse looks sick?" I asked. 

"No," says she, "he's well enough." 

"I wouldn't like to ride him if he's sick," I replied, at 
which point the horse turned around and blew heavily in 
my face. I startled back horrified. 

"Oh, you'll find him mettlesome enough," she assured 
me, "I picked him out myself for you. He's the worst in 
the stable." 

"My family won't thank you," I muttered. 

"There's nothing like a mettlesome horse," she added. 

"To shoot," says I, under my breath. 

"Well, let's go," says she, all impatience. 

"Sure," says I, dropping the bridle with alacrity. "Where 
shall we go?" 

"Riding, silly," says she, laughing. 

That laugh of hers had lost for me much of its fizz. It 



OUT O' LUCK 105 

had sounded better on the previous evening. Today it vv^as 
ghastly. 

"Oh," I says, *'I thought you meant to go avt^ay some- 
where." 

"Well!" says she, stamping her foot. 

"Well, w^hat?" says I, a little blankly. 

"Well!" she replied. 

Still I didn't savvy. 

"All right," says she, huffily, "I'll get on myself." And 
she did. 

"It's more than I can do," says I, looking with great mis- 
giving at the murderous beast. 

"Do you want me to help you ?" she asks scornfully from 
her secure perch. 

"I do," says I, with more truth than pride. 

"Well, I won't," says she. 

I approached the horse warily and he frowned down at 
me over his long nose and consequently I de-approached 
him. That is, I moved away with as much dignity as pos- 
sible under the spell of a great fear. 

"Well, well, come on," cried my intrepid Amazon. 

"I'd rather sleep with a wildcat than get on that horse," 
I declared. 

"Shall I leave you?" demanded the girl. 

"Alone with that horse? Never!" I cried, and once 
more approached him. He pivoted around head on and 
regarded me with his goggle eyes, a trifle crossed. 

"My horse has goat blood in him," says I to the girl. 
She refused to loosen up with a suggestion. Then suddenly 
I had a wise flash. Leading the brute up to the steps of 
the verandah I sprang upon him with a prayer to God in 
my heart and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. 
I say I sprang upon this horse, but in truth I didn't. I 
only sprang partly upon him. The other part dangled 
artistically along the sleepy street of that rural town. Al- 
ready my companion had ceased to be my companion. She 



io6 OUT O' LUCK 

was merely a memory. John Gilpin was a jockey in com- 
parison with me. At last she caught up with me. 

''What shall I do with my sailor trousers?" I demanded. 
"They flap." 

"Tuck 'em up," says she, in her horsey voice. 

"And show my garters?" I cried. 

"Sure," says she. 

"Jade," says I, and for the time being further conversa- 
tion ceased because of the Pavaloish proclivities of my mount. 
At last he began to show his better nature and eventually 
became almost reasonable, but never ridable. 

"Great stu£F!" said I to the girl, drawing my first faint 
breath of relief. 

"It's the only thing," she replied. 

"For a suicide, yes," I added. 

Every bird on every limb, and there were many of both, 
seemed to be twittering at i^s. I felt sure they were kid- 
ding me. One old crow, who in his misogynistic manner, 
held himself aloof from the rest of his tribe, gazed gloom- 
ily at me from a distant limb, then flew away, making a 
horrid noise. 

"Your cheeks are pale," the young lady took the pains 
to inform me. 

"It affects some athletes that way," I told her, at which 
she laughed in a peculiarly irritating way that all women 
have and a great deal too many use. 

"What's to keep this horse from turning around and 
biting my leg?" I asked, suddenly appalled by this terrifying 
thought. 

"Nothing," says she. 

"God!" says L 

"Well, come on, then," says she, "let's race." 

Protest was in vain. I had no choice. Mine was a 
mettlesome horse. There is no denying it. If anyone 
ever does I feel sure I will strangle him or her on the 
spot. No sooner had my companion's horse set out than 
we parted company for the second time that morning. 




** 'say, don't you think that my horse looks sick?' " — Page 104 




" « , «-.» 



LET*S SWAP HORSES,* I CRIED, AS I PASSED HER COMPARATIVELY MILD- 
MANNERED mount" — Page log 



OUT O' LUCK 109 

"Let*s swap horses," I cried, as I passed her comparatively 
mild-mannered mount. But her reply was lost to me. For 
sheer speed nothing could beat that horse. An automobile 
may cover more ground in less time, but not any faster. 
The road seemed to curl up behind us and the clouds above 
tumbled and collapsed through space. Then, as suddenly 
as it had started, it stopped. That is, the horse stopped. I 
didn't. I continued a few yards further on my nose. The 
horse, apparently satisfied with his sorry achievement, con- 
tinued on his mad progress, and I made no attempt to fol- 
low him. When he at last disappeared from view I felt 
much better and arose from the road. On a nearby fence 
I seated myself and prepared to await the arrival of my 
fair friend. My knowledge of receiving a sarcastic greet- 
ing in no way offset my relief in having got rid of that 
terrible horse. At last she appeared. 

"Where's your horse?" says she, briefly. 

"What horse?" I asked, absently. 

"Why, the horse you were riding so badly?" she answers. 

"Oh, that horse," says I, brightening up, "why that horse 
lost interest in me about fifteen minutes ago. I think he 
has some friends down the road." 

"Are you interested enough to look for him?" she asks. 

"Yes," says I, "with a gun." 

As we were a long way from the hotel it was decided 
that I should get up behind the girl and that we ride home- 
ward in this clubby manner until we reached civilization, at 
v/hich point, it was further decided, I was to debark and 
make my way to the hotel on foot. A groom was to be 
sent out after the horse possessed of the devil. 

"It's not necessary to hug me," said the girl, after we 
had progressed some distance in this fashion. 

"I know," I explained, "but it's a great deal more pleas- 
ant." 

"You seem to know how to hug a girl a great deal better 
than you do how to ride a horse," she replied, caustically. 

"I do," said I, "I like it better." 



^iio OUT O' LUCK 

She made no reply to this, so perhaps she did, too. 

"Tell me," she said, after a little while, "was that the 
first time you had ever been on a horse?" 

"This is the second," I admitted. 

"Well, you stayed on him much longer than most of the 
men I've taken out," answered this strange creature. 

"It was not through preference," I assured her. 

"He's the worst horse in seven counties," she continued. 
"No one ever fools with him any more — ^stop that at once 
and don't do it again!" 

But I couldn't stop. I was too grateful. At the spot 
decided upon, I dismounted, and looked up at her. 

"Will you ride tomorrow?" she asked, with an unusually 
arresting smile. 

"My dear," I answered, "this is, or was, our last ride 
together. I understand Browning better now than I have 
ever done before." 

"But it's not our last dance?" she continued, turning full 
current on her smile. 

"No," I replied, limping wearily down the road after 
her. And it wasn't. She held me to it that very night in 
spite of all the pains and aches that were torturing my 
racked body. 

Somehow I can't keep from liking that girl. May Polly 
forgive me. May she never need to. May she never know. 
This is the universal prayer of all men and most women. 

"Won't you sit out a dance?" she asked me, 

"Dearie," I replied, "I'll stand it with you, but after 
this morning's ride I fear my sitting days are over." 

Dec. 28th. — It's all up with me now. Polly and mother 
arrived this morning. Some old scandal monger, un- 
known to me, but to whom I was not unknown, evi- 
dently tipped them off about me and my new sweetie. 
Polly's first words were sufficient to dispel the hopes to 
which I had desperately clung that she was still in ig- 
norance. 



OUT O' LUCK 111 

**Ah," says she, regarding my blank face with battle- 
brewing eye, "I see you didn't expect us." 

Muttering a few cheerless words, I kissed mother. 

"Well?" says Polly. 

Then I kissed her, too. She didn't want It. In the 
bullying spirit of womanhood, she was merely demanding 
her rights. I kissed her quickly, but not quick enough. 
The other girl, clad in an extremely fanciful skating cos- 
tume, was just passing by. It was horrible. My soul 
sweated in every pore. She stopped for merely a moment, 
but it was one moment too many. 

"Is that the woman?" hissed Polly. Women can hiss. 
In spite of all statements to the contrary, I know that it's 
possible. I've heard them. This hiss was particularly snak- 
ish. 

"What woman?'* I mumbled dully. 

Polly took me by the arm and led me away. 

"We are to be married," says she, and I have never 
heard more deadly determination of purpose expressed in 
anyone's voice. "We are to be married," she continued, giv- 
ing me time to take it in, "one month from today." 

"At what time?" I asked, knowing that something was 
required of me. 

"At 9 o'clock," says Polly. 

"Splendid!" says I, in a dead voice. "Ripping!" 

(Later) — The storm has broken in all its fury. For 
the first time in my life I wish I were at sea. They have 
met and practically insulted each other. A barroom fight 
is mild in comparison with the sweetness of two contend- 
ing women. I managed with a skill bom of desperation 
to see the other girl alone. In my wildness I admitted that 
I loved her. She told me that she was going to marry me 
or break my neck. She could do it, too. Here I am, the 
most sat upon sailor in the service, over whom two women 
are fighting to see which one will have the pleasure of 
making me the most miserable. It is more than I deserve, 
perhaps, and at the same time it is more than I require. As 



112 OUT O' LUCK 

I was sitting on my bed a moment ago, holding my head 
in my hands, the other girl came quietly in, slipped me 
a small, swift hunk of a kiss and tiptoed out. There were 
no words spoken. That is evidently her way of clinching 
the bargain, and, by the way, I feel now I think she has 
done it. Dinner with Polly and mother is going to be a 
crisp affair. Why did I ever leave the sea? 

Dec. 29th. — Saved! Providence in the guise of a tele- 
gram intervened in my behalf and drew me out of the 
vortex of what was rapidly developing into a tragedy. I 
am no sounder of heart, but I am farther away from the 
scene of the accident. The telegram instructed me to re- 
port at once to camp and stand by for the mysterious proc- 
ess of releasing! I left them flat. I think I must have 
invented this train I'm on. No one knew there was such 
a train, but I caught it — sort of wished it into being. I'm 
now on my way to New York and from that point to 
camp. Behind me in the rapidly receding distance are two 
women. They must meet and talk. I fear the worst. 
If they ever come to the point of swapping stories, God 
help the good name I bear. It might not be right to love 
two women at once, but, by gad, it's rational. 

Jan. 3rd. — (Back at camp) Not for long am I here, I 
hope. Some of my friends have waited so long, however, 
to hear their names called out on the release muster that 
their characters as well as countenances have utterly 
changed. I am slowly cracking under the strain myself. 
During the last three days which have elapsed since I ar- 
rived in camp I have attended nine different musters with 
hope and confidence in my heart, only to have a mighty 
crimp thrown into both. 

As soon as I struck the station I hurried right up to the 
officer and said: 

"Here I am, sir, when do I go?" And the things he 
said to me made me completely forget both of my bellicose 
sweeties. It seems that you don't walk right in and then 



D\CKo 




"sailors have an unpleasant habit of glaring" — Pagf 11$ 







AT FIRST 1 THOUGHT THAT HE WAS GETTING INTO COMMUNICATION WITH 

MY great-grandfather" — Page ii6 



OUT O' LUCK 115 

walk right out again. Not at all. The word "stand-by" 
has really an actual meaning. It means just that. You 
stand-by for hours and you stand-by for days. One man 
has lost seventeen pounds in his efforts to hear his name 
called. 

Jan. 4th. — Still out o' luck. The officer who reads the 
muster out roll does not seem to be able to pronounce my 
name. I am haggard. This morning we assembled on the 
parade ground and listened to the list being read. I had 
to be led away when Tim's, Tony's and the Spider's names 
were called out all in a row. I am alone now. My ship- 
mates have gone. Why speak of the parting? Some one 
has made off with my hammock and I am told that no one 
can leave the station without turning in his outfit at the 
gear hut. A moment ago I caught myself laughing hys- 
terically at a tree, then all of a sudden I burst out singing: 

My name is Biltmore Oswald, ^. 
But the officer, he dont care. 

Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad. That's 
what is happening to me. One cold letter from Polly. 
Two warm ones from the girl. As David once said, "Feed 
me with apples, I am sick of love." He could have said 
less at greater length. I must search for a hammock — I 
don't care whose. 

Jan. 5th. — It has happened. The first pop out of the 
box. Mounting the platform, the officer, a seagoing look- 
ing body of a man, called out my name in a loud voice, but 
my answer was still louder. So loud, in fact, that when 
the echoes of my triumphant "Here, sir!" had died out in 
the distance, a profound silence fell upon the camp. One 
could have heard the thrice proverbial pin crash to earth. 
Sailors have an unpleasant habit of glaring. The eyes of 
the multitude were upon me. There was envy in every 
eye. Then in a quiet voice the officer repeated my name 



ii6 OUT O' LUCK 

and I responded with a subdued "Here, sir." He smiled 
and told me to fall out. 

From that spot, together with my kind, I was taken to 
the medical office. Here I was examined. Standing be- 
fore the doctor I looked him searchingly in the eyes. What 
was he going to do to me? My whole fate remained be- 
tween him and a still unstolen hammock. 

"Have they looked at your feet?" he snapped out. 

"Have who looked at my feet, sir?** I asked. 

"The men in the other room,'* he replied. 

"I didn't know that the men in the other room wanted 
to look at my feet, sir," I answered, humbly. 

"They don't," said he, "but they have to." 

I returned to the men in the other room. 

"I understand that you want to look at my feet," I said, 
politely. 

"Dear me, yes," said one of them — the funny one, "we're 
just crazy to look at your feet. Let's see *em.*' 

I showed them my feet. They gazed at them without 
any particular show of either interest or admiration, marked 
something on a card and sent me back to the doctor. This 
good gentleman then began to make passes at my body, all 
of which I successfully dodged. 

"Stand still, can*t you?" says he. "I want to sound you." 

I stood still and was sounded — ^vigorously. Then he be- 
gan to listen to me and his ear tickled. 

"Don't do that!" he cried, irritably. "Don't fidget. 
Don't budge." 

Once more I came to rest with a great show of self-con- 
trol. Suddenly he stopped and began tapping on the wall. 
This was a new game. I didn't know what was expected 
of me. At first I thought he might perhaps be a spiritualist 
and was getting into communication with my great-grand- 
father to find out if there had ever been any sickness in the 
family. I relinquished this thought in favor of the Morse 
code. He was evidently trying me out on this, and so at 
his next tap I took a chance and called out "A." 




"* GOOD-BYE, FOGERTY,' SAYS I, *BE GOOD TO YOUR FAMILIES * "—Page 120 




NOW 1 MUST HASTEN TO SOW SOME JAZZ-WEEDS"— Pa^tf 120 



OUT O' LUCK 119 

After this came several more taps and one loud tap which 
caused me to answer "C." 

He tapped some more and I took a shot in the dark with 

"What are you doing?" he cried, giving the wall a re- 
sounding bang. "I'm not here to listen to your letters." 

"Oh, I thought you were trying me out in the Morse 
code," says I. 

"No," says he, "I want those guys on the other side to 
keep quiet. I can't hear your heart." 

With this he bent down and listened vigorously. 

"Can't do it," he said at last, "can't hear it. Mustn't let 
you out until I hear your heart. Apparently it's not beat- 
ing. 

H|^ called another doctor over and asked him to listen 
to rriy heart. This gentleman listened attentively for a 
great while. 

"Can't hear a thing," says he at last. 

Both of the doctors looked at me and both muttered 
"Strange," and one of them asked me if I wanted a chair. 
The noise in the other rooms was growing louder all the 
time. Running to the door I thrust my head into the room 
and shouted: 

"For God's sake, men, pipe down a minute or I'll have to 
re-enlist!" 

The silence of amazement fell upon the room and I 
returned to the doctors. 

"Now listen," I said, "and listen good." 

"Ah," said the doctor, "I hear it. There it goes. Splen- 
did! You pass." 

And I did — quickly. 

(Later) — ^The pay office was long, but easy. I received 
forty-five seeds. This so delighted me that I tried to shake 
hands with the Paymaster, but he shut the window on my 
hand. 

I stole a hammock and turned it in. It happened to be my 



120 OUT O' LUCK 

own hammock. The last man in camp is going to be out of 
luck. The station is evidently short just one hammock. 

On my way to the gate I met Mr. Fogerty staggering 
along in his insolent manner. 

"Good-bye, Fogerty," I said, taking him by his funny 
old paw, *Tm going now. Be good to your families." 

He gazed into my eyes for a moment, glanced at my sea 
bag, and took in the situation. He seemed to realize he 
was losing his best meal ticket, for his long red tongue 
suddenly protruded and he subjected my eye to an affection- 
ate side swipe. He then followed me to the gate where I 
now am, waiting for a jitney. A sailor I never saw before 
just shook my hand vigorously and said, "Good-by, good 
luck, God bless you." 

"Glad to have met you," I replied, and the simple-hearted 
soul beat it down the road with his bag on his shoulder. 

Before me lies Polly and the girl. Which shall it be? 
I know not. Let the future decide. All I know is that I 
am just one jump from a pair of trousers that don't flap at 
the ends. Farewell, Fogerty; I shall see you again. 

Now I must hasten to sow some jazz- weeds. 



THE END 



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